Origins
by Llandaryn
Summary: When a new Blight threatens to overwhelm Thedas, a group of strangers must unite together to aid the last remaining Grey Wardens, and find themselves becoming unlikely heroes.
1. Beginnings

Origins

_1. Beginnings_

The summer sun shone brightly into the garden, warming the skin of the six year old child as she played with her doll beside the courtyard fountain. Today's game was tea-parties; she talked to the doll as if it was an honoured guest at her table, offered it cheese and biscuits, and tea warm from the pot. Though the doll could not talk back, the girl giggled at the imaginary conversation that flowed through her mind.

"Child... come here for a moment," said a voice behind her. Turning, the girl saw the Lady of the house, and quickly hurried over. Mother had told her that the Lady was to be spoken to courteously, if at all. It wouldn't do to insult the Lady. The girl sketched a hasty curtsy, pulling the pleats of her skirt aside in an attempt to mimic the gesture she had seen her mother make so often. "There is no easy way for me to say this, child," the Lady continued. "You know that for some time now, your mother has been feeling unwell?"

"Yes," she said quietly. Her mother grew weary so easily these days. She no longer had time for playing dolls after attending the Lady all day.

"I am afraid that your mother has... passed on. Do you know what that means?" The girl shook her head. "It means that she has gone away, and she can never come back. The Maker is looking after her now, and he will continue to do so until you can one day be together again."

"I... I want my mother," the girl began to cry.

"Shhh, hush now, hush. There there, good girl. I know this is hard for you, but your mother was a good woman, and she attended me well. Before she passed away, she asked if you could stay here, and I agreed. She wanted to provide for you, even after she was gone. Though I have never had children of my own, I am quite happy for you to stay here until you grow old enough to make your own decisions in life."

"Wh... when can I see... see my mother again?" asked the girl, doing her best to quiet her sobbing.

"Not for a very long time. Only when you are older even than me. Now, would you like a sweet pastry before dinner?"

"Mother said I'm not supposed to eat sweets before dinner," the girl said solemnly.

"Well, I say it's okay, just for this one time. And after dinner, you can sit in my withdrawing room whilst I work on my tapestry, and you can listen to the minstrel. Would you like that?"

"Y... yes," she sniffed.

"Very good. Come along then, Leliana."

The Lady held out her hand, and the girl took it. As she was led into the house, she looked back at the doll that her mother had bought for her; it had fallen to the floor in her haste to reach the Lady, and it was lying alone and forlorn in the dust. She considered asking the Lady if she could run back for it, but quickly dismissed that idea. If Lady Cecilie thought she was being a nuisance, she might not let her listen to the minstrel singing later, and she did so love the singing.

o - o - o - o - o

Dozens of small, dirty bodies were pressed into the holding cage of the warehouse. The building reeked of sweat and stale urine, of vomit and brewing ale. Sometimes it was cattle sold here, sometimes horses. Occasionally there were goods on sale, but today, it was slaves. The adults were kept caged on the far side of the warehouse, away from the children. Nonetheless, some still cried out for their young ones, screaming their names, hoping for a reply.

One young boy pushed himself as close to the side of the cage as possible, to avoid being crushed by the larger children next to him. He was small for his age, even for an elf, and his short blond hair was caked in mud and grime. His large blue eyes were widened in fear, and he looked desperately towards the adult cages, looking for a familiar face. He had been raised by the whores of the brothel where his Dalish mother had worked and died, and he was left to fend mostly for himself, stealing meals where he could, fighting both dogs and other hungry youngsters to keep them his own. That was how the men had captured him; the had lured him into an alley with food, then pounced on him as he ate.

"Bring out the first block," called a voice from the centre of the warehouse. The boy heard the cage opened, and ten of the children were ushered out. "This boy is a fine, strong child from a working family. Used to labour, he will not balk at his duties, nor shirk them. He'd make an excellent labourer, particularly in the fresh air. A perfect addition to any farm hold. Bidding starts at fifty silvers."

One by one, the children were bid upon, and led away to their new masters. Another ten were led out, and the process started again. Eventually there were only eight left, and the cage door opened one last time. The boy clung to it with his fingers, not wanting to leave, not wanting to stand on the high block in front of all those strangers, not wanting to be led away to an unknown fate. It took two of the men to unhook him from the cage; one to uncurl his fingers from the cold iron bars, and another to pull his small body away before he could cling on again. The crowd, meanwhile, laughed at his efforts.

"A fine, spirited young elf," the auctioneer joked as his captors carried him onto the block and stood him at the head of the line of children. "Strong for his age, and street-wise too. We foresee a good martial career for this one, whether it be army or personal guard. Who will start the bidding at fifty silvers?"

The bidding continued until somebody offered three sovereigns. After that, there were no more offers. The boy was led to another holding area, where six boys were already standing under the watchful eye of a tall, leather-clad man. The man took out a piece of parchment and a quill.

"What's your name, boy?" he asked.

"Zevran," said the boy.

"Hmm. I've heard worse. You can keep it. Stand here with the others, and do not talk."

Zevran took a place beside the other boys. All human, they dwarfed him, and immediately made him feel defensive. Bigger children had stolen his meal from him on more than one occasion, usually through brute force. Zevran had learnt that to keep his food safe, he had to use his small size to his advantage, and often climbed to great heights, to places that could hold his weight but not theirs, to eat his food.

The bidding was over, and no more children were added to the holding area. Another man appeared, and tied a rope around the wrist of one of the boys, and then moved onto another, then another. Zevran was tied last, and he flinched as the rope was pulled tight around his wrist, burning his skin.

"Come this way," said the man, taking up the end of the rope and tugging on it gently. "Follow me, and no tricks from any of you, or it'll be lashes for all of you."

Zevran followed the boy in front of him, and they were led towards a room at the side of the warehouse. When the door closed behind them, one of the men pushed aside a pile of wooden crates, revealing a flight of steps descending into darkness. He lit a torch and passed his to the man who held the rope. When he began to descend, the boys followed, and the crates were put back across the exit, blocking out all light.

For Zevran, the journey felt like some sort of dark dream. The only thing that seemed real was the torchlight, and he followed this like a moth drawn towards a candle. In the cold, dark tunnel, the fire was both comforting and hypnotic. When the tunnel became stairs, leading upwards, another door was thrown open and daylight flooded the tunnel. Zevran squeezed his eyes shut, protecting them against the cold, harsh sunlight.

They were led on through a series of tight back alleys until they reached a foul-smelling building. Several older boys, dressed in matching brown outfits, stood beside a dozen buckets of water.

"Clean 'em up," said the man, tossing the end of the rope to one of the boys. More boys advanced, began stripping the clothes from the captives. Zevran shivered with cold as his clothes were tossed onto a nearby open fire. Then one of the boys poured water from one of the buckets over his head and began washing him down from head to toe with warm soapy water. There was a sharp smell of astringent, and Zevran spluttered as the de-lousing mixture found its way into his mouth. Then more water was poured over him, washing away the dirty, soapy foam. Clean clothes were thrust at him, and he dressed as ordered.

"Come along this way," said one of the boys, pulling sharply on the end of the rope. He led them into the building, where unfamiliar smells assaulted Zevran's nose. He heard voices shouting orders, and through one open doorway saw two young women stretching out an animal hide, scraping the hair and fibres from it. The women waved at the boy leading them, and he waved back with an impish grin.

After several twisting, turning corridors, they were led to a flight of rickety wooden stairs, and began to ascend. The smell of leather and tanning faded a little as they climbed, and Zevran found himself at last in a warm, cramped roof space. There were at least fifteen other boys, ranging in age from five to ten, and all of them human. He and the other newcomers were led to six empty, low beds, and told to sit there and wait. The rope was removed from their wrists, and they were left alone.

Eventually the older boys returned, carrying between them a large pan. Zevran smelt the sweet aroma of cooking food, and his mouth began to water. When the other boys formed a line in front of the pan, he followed, taking the last place in the queue. One by one the youngsters were handed a wooden bowl and given three ladles of hot broth and a roll of bread. Broth and bread in hand, Zevran retreated to his bed and watched the other children warily. But all seemed content with their meals, and none looked like they were on the verge of stealing his, so he tucked into his food, sipping broth straight from the bowl.

After the shock of being captured, after the trauma of being held in the warehouse overnight, after the cold journey through the subterranean tunnels and the sudden bathing, the warm food was a welcome change. Not having to fight for it was also a welcome change. Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad after all. It was already warmer than where he normally slept, and if they were fed like this once a day, he would never have to scrounge for food again.

"Have the new ones been washed and fed?" asked a man as he entered the room.

"All of them," said one of the elder boys.

"Good." The man turned to face the six newcomers, and Zevran found himself staring at the human. His clothes were black, finely cut, and resplendent with gold thread trimming and pearls sown as buttons. His dark hair was combed back over his head, and his mustache was thin, curling upwards at the tips. "Forget who you were," said the man. "Forget your families. From now on, the Crows are your family. We will take care of you, we will clothe you and feed you, and we will teach you. In return, you are required to learn. You will learn what we teach you, and you will learn to obey when you are given an instruction. Whilst you are here, Cass and the other older boys will watch over you. Do not cause trouble, do not try to run away, or you will be punished. But if you are good, if you take all your lessons to heart, then you will be rewarded. This is how the Crows work; if you are good, you get nice things. If you are bad, you get bad things."

"Where... where are my parents?" asked one of the boys. Zevran did not know whether he was being brave or foolish.

"Your parents do not want you anymore. That is why you are here," said the man. "Forget about them." He turned towards the eldest boy. "Cass, show them the ropes. Make sure they know the rules before the end of the week. Their first lesson will begin then."

With that, the man left, and Cass gestured for them to follow him. He showed them the leather workshop downstairs, and pointed out the owner, who rented out the roof space to the Crows for a very modest fee. He showed them where to draw fresh water from the well, where to wash, where to leave their damaged or out-grown clothes to be replaced, and he showed them where they could and could not go. As night fell, he took them back upstairs and left them by their beds.

Unused to sleeping with so many other children nearby, Zevran climbed into his bed and pulled his quilts over and around him. Some of the other children, the ones who had been there longer, were engaged in quiet conversation. Mostly it was whispering, and he could not overhear most of what they said. The new boys, the ones who had been bought along with him, were silent, one or two wide-eyed with fear. The boy who had asked for his parents was sobbing quietly two beds away.

There was creaking from the stairway, ominously loud in the darkness of the night. All whispering stopped, and a deathly silence descended over the room. The door creaked open, and Zevran closed his eyes as he heard footsteps approach.

"What about this one?" asked a voice.

"Ugh, elves," said another voice, and he recognised it as Cass's. "'Sides, I heard his mother was a whore; no telling what you might catch from him."

The footsteps moved on, and stopped not far away, beside the bed of the sobbing boy.

"This one, then?"

"Yeah, he'll do," said Cass.

"Hey, what's your name, kid?"

"Oli... Oliver," the boy sniffed.

"Well Oliver, it's your lucky day. You get to come and sleep in our room tonight. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I... I want my mother," Oliver cried.

"You'll get over her," said Cass. "Don't worry, we'll help you take your mind off her. Just you come with us."

As three pairs of footsteps retreated to the door, Zevran opened one eye. Cass's arm as around Oliver's shoulders as he comforted the boy, telling him how much he'd enjoy being a Crow. When the door shut behind them, the light from the stairs went with it, and the room was plunged again into darkness. There was no more talking from the other boys that night, but as Zevran lay in the dark, trying to find sleep, he was sure he heard whimpering from another part of the building.

o - o - o - o - o

"Morrigan! Come here, my dear."

Morrigan looked up from her observation of a caterpillar, and saw her mother approaching. She placed the caterpillar back on the leaf, and brushed the soil from her clothes as she stood.

"Yes, mother?" she asked.

"I want you to come with me for a moment and look at something."

She took her mother's hand and allowed herself to be led towards the road. Her mother stopped short of the road itself, remaining hidden in the trees. She pointed with one knobby finger, and Morrigan followed the line. Further down the road were a several tall, shiny figures. She had seen similar groups of men twice before, in her eight years of life, and she knew what was about to come.

"More templars, mother?" she asked.

"That's right. Foolish men, always trying to interfere with my life. But we know what to do with foolish men, don't we?"

"More fun!" the girl giggled.

"That's right, more fun! Now, I want you to do just like you did last time. Let them see you crying, and then lead them down to the riverbank. You remember the old badger sett that we found there? When you get there, I want you to hide in that, and don't leave until I come for you. Understand?"

"Yes mother, I understand. Does this mean we have to move again?"

"Afterwards, yes. But that can't be helped. If we don't move, more of the fools will keep coming. Go now, child. I'll be waiting down by the river. Remember the badger sett."

Morrigan nodded, and climbed down the shallow bank to the road. She took a handful of dirt and rubbed it into her cheeks, then forced herself to cry, the tears tracking lines down the dust on her face. Quietly, she crept ahead of the templars, standing in the middle of the road so that they could not fail to see her. Then, she screamed.

It was the sort of blood-curdling scream that chilled anybody who heard it to the bone. Her mother had spent a long time teaching her to properly scream, and her hard work had paid off. The templars rushed forward, and Morrigan turned and ran. She had been just six years old when she had first done this, and she had quickly learnt that if the men drew too close, she could use her smaller size to her advantage. And so she squeezed herself through patches of thorns and briars that the large men struggled to scramble through, she dodged amongst thick tree trunks, wove her way through narrow nettle-strewn trails, until at last she came to the river.

As her mother suggested, she made her way to the entrance of the badger sett, and crawled down into the hole. When she came to the burrow, at the end of the tunnel, she turned around, and looked up at the distant sunlight that filtered in through the hole. The first time she had entered the sett she had been terrified of the darkness, of the oppressive feeling of the earth closing in on her. But her mother said that you could not have light without darkness; it was the darkness that might light so special.

It didn't take long for her mother to begin her fun. Though Morrigan could not hear the words that were spoken, either by her mother or by the templars, she heard the screams of agony begin. They lasted for some time; her mother was quite adept at inflicting pain without killing. Eventually, though, the cries ceased, and silence fell upon the land.

"You can come out now," her mother called down into the sett. Somewhat reluctant to leave the warmth of the burrow, Morrigan slowly made her way up to the light.

"Is it over, mother?" she asked, pulling herself out of the hole.

"Yes, my dear. Look." Her mother gestured toward the templars, now little more than twisted, charred corpses.

"What did you do to them?"

"Ah, that is something I will teach you when you are much older. For now, you should work on the magic I have taught you. Controlling the elements is something that will come in very useful to you in the future."

"Why do they keep coming, mother?" she asked, following her mother back to their home.

"Because templars will ever be fools, unquestioning hounds of the Chantry who believe that apostates - that means unsanctioned mages like you and I - are a danger to their precious society. According to them we are an abomination unto their Maker. Ha!"

"Is that why we live out here, and not with the rest of the humans?"

"Your mind is full of questions today, Morrigan. What has brought this on?"

"Nothing," she said quickly with a blush, afraid that her mother would sense her idle fancies.

"You're curious about other people, aren't you? I can't say that I blame you. I used to be curious about things too, once upon a time. The truth is, we live out here because it there is no place for apostates. We would be quickly found and hunted down. Also, I tired long ago of humanity. If you ever live as long as I, you will understand. When you've been everywhere and seen everything, nothing feels new anymore. Plus, having to put up with people is quite a chore. They talk about unimportant things... the weather, clothes, things that I have no interest in anymore. When you are old enough, you can go to one of the villages and see humanity for yourself, if you like."

"How old will I have to be?" she asked excitedly.

"Hmm. When you are fifteen, you will be old enough to mingle with others. There is much for you to learn before then, of course. And not just magic, either. If you are to walk amongst people, I must impart knowledge and wisdom to you. You must learn what is and is not acceptable, and how to move without drawing attention to yourself. If you are caught, you will most likely be killed."

"Won't you come with me, mother?"

"Bah, do not be foolish, child. I came out here to escape humanity. I have no desire to return to it. No. This journey will be yours alone. You will always have a home with me, of course. And speaking of which, we need to move ours, before more of those tin-headed fools show up and get themselves killed."

Morrigan skipped happily ahead on the path towards home. Fifteen was still some way off, but she couldn't wait. She would finally be able to meet other people, and see for herself if they were as strange as her mother claimed.

o - o - o - o - o

A cold breeze blew through Castle Redcliffe, causing the tapestries on the walls to ripple gently. Crouched outside the door to Arl Eamon's bedroom with his ear pressed to a crack, Alistair shivered. He didn't like the winter months, when the weather confined him to the Castle. This year was even worse; Eamon's new wife, a young Orlesian woman named Isolde, had moved into the Castle following their wedding in late autumn, and ever since she had arrived she had done nothing but harangue Alistair. She hated him, he was sure, but he didn't know why. He had always been polite and courteous to her, had never stared, never mentioned her strange accent that made her unintelligible at times. The woman just couldn't stand him.

"...know you want to do what's best for him, but haven't you done enough already? What about doing what's best for me, for our child?" Lady Isolde's voice had a pleading tone he had never heard before. Normally she was icy, aloof. Why would she be begging Eamon?

"But Isolde, I can't just cast him aside. This is the only life he's ever known."

Arl Eamon sounded sad, and Alistair realised they were talking about him. Eamon had taken him in after his mother had died when he was a baby, and practically raised him as his own son.

"I wouldn't ask you to cast him aside, but surely there are other places he can be happy? I think, once our baby arrives, he will not like it so much here. Everybody will be paying attention to our child, and he may resent that. People will have less time for him than he is used to. Would it not be kinder to spare him that?"

"I... suppose you're right. I will speak to him about it."

"Thank you, my love. It will be for the best, you'll see."

Alistair hurried away from the door, knowing that Eamon would pay him a visit shortly. Safely in his room, he closed his door and changed for bed, diving under the covers with his mind afire.

Where could Eamon send him? Surely not to Denerim, to his father, to the man who wanted nothing to do with him? No, Eamon would not send him to a place where he would be unwelcome and treated with scorn. Maybe... maybe he would be sent to Eamon's brother, Teagan. Alistair liked Teagan; he was always smiling, always had a kind word for his adoptive nephew. That wouldn't be so bad, would it? But it wouldn't be home...

There was a knock on his door, and he took a deep breath before calling that it was alright to enter. Arl Eamon came into his room, closing the door behind him.

"Ah, in bed already, I see. I hope I didn't wake you, Alistair," he smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"No, I was just saying my prayers to the Maker," he lied.

"That's good. Your mother would approve. She was a very devout woman." As Eamon spoke, Alistair subconsciously fingered the pendant that hung from his necklace. It had been his mother's, the only thing he had left of her, and it depicted the undying flame of Andraste, bride and prophetess of the Maker. "For some time now, I've been thinking... wondering... what she would want for you, and if I am doing right by her wishes by keeping you here."

"I like it here. This is my home."

"Yes. Yes it is. But I would like to make a suggestion. I know you might not like the idea at first, but I would like you to give it some thought."

"What is it?" he asked suspiciously.

"After your mother passed away, there were some who suggested that you be raised by the Chantry. It is not uncommon for orphans to end up there. I was against the idea at the time, because I believed that you deserved some sense of family. Because I had no children of my own, it was no problem for you to stay here. Now that you're older, and life around the Castle is changing, I think it might be best if you spent some time at the Chantry. They can give you a far better education than I, and you will have a chance to make friends of your own age. I know it can be lonely for you, here."

"You want to get rid of me?"

"Not at all. You will still be welcome here, for religious holidays and special occasions. This will still be your home. But I know that you can become much more than you would be if you remained here. You will be with boys and girls of your own age, you will be cared for and educated, and I believe you will enjoy it there. There is a monastery, where the templars and priestesses are trained. It's not far away, and I could visit you."

"And if I don't want to go?" he asked, feeling tears forming in his eyes.

"I would still ask that you try it. Spend a year there, see how much you can learn, how much fun you will have. If you don't like it, you don't have to stay, but you cannot know unless you try. Think about it for a while. You won't be going anywhere until spring, at least. Just try to get used to the idea. I'm sure that once you're there, you'll love every minute of it."

When Arl Eamon left, Alistair jumped from his bed and rooted through his wardrobe for the biggest bag he owned, then began stuffing it with clothes and shoes. If Arl Eamon wanted him gone, then he would go. But he wouldn't wait until spring, he wouldn't live in a place he wasn't wanted. He wouldn't put up with Isolde's gloating, condescending smiles at having 'won' and forced Eamon to send him away. One of the knights could escort him to the monastery in the morning. There was no point in waiting.

As he packed, the pendant around his neck banged back and forth against his chest. Angry, he pulled the chain, breaking it at the clasp, and threw the necklace with all his strength at the nearest wall. It hit the wall and shattered, sending a rain of broken pieces over the floor. Aghast, he knelt down beside the broken pieces, began hunting for them. It wasn't easy, with only the firelight to see by, and he could find only a handful.

How could he have been so stupid? The one piece of his mother that he had left, had been broken by his own anger. But perhaps it was better this way. His mother had died, leaving him alone. His father wanted nothing to do with him, and now even Arl Eamon, the one person who had ever cared for him, didn't want him around anymore. Perhaps he just wasn't supposed to have family, to be wanted anywhere. If so, a clean break would be best. Yes, he would leave tomorrow.


	2. Growing Pains

Origins

_2. Growing Pains_

"My dear lady, perhaps I can offer you a tour of the manor?" Leliana blushed at the young man's suggestion. Blushing on command was something it had taken her a long time to master, but now she was perfect at it.

"But good lord, I play for your mother and her ladies in an hour, and I mustn't be late," she replied coyly.

"Ah, it won't take that long. The manor is not all that large," he smiled. "I would very much like for you to see the gardens."

"Oh, I do love walking in gardens. Well... I suppose a small tour would not be out of the question."

"Splendid!" He offered her his arm, which she accepted graciously. He had not been lying when he said that the manor was not large. Travelling minstrels would have been a rare thing in this place, preferring instead to stay with the neighbours of the LeVir family... and their much larger mansions.

Starting downstairs, he briefly showed her around the small dining room and kitchen, the spacious withdrawing room, the library and the conservatory. Then they moved upstairs, and he gestured perfunctorily at the bedrooms, describing in great detail how ornate and cosy his own was. The indoor bathing room likewise drew a long description, but he skipped past the servants' quarters with barely a word.

"What is in there?" Leliana asked, pointing towards a pair of closed double doors.

"Mother's private study. That is where all her boring business takes place. Would you like to see the gardens now? I believe mother is already down there."

"Actually, I would like to see this bedroom which you have so deftly described," she laughed.

"Ah, I'm not sure that would be entirely appropriate. You are a beautiful woman, after all... the servants may gossip."

"But surely there is no harm in simply looking, is there?" she asked, blushing again just to be sure.

"Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?"

He led her towards the bedroom, opening the door for her with a bow. To her surprise, he had not exaggerated the sumptuousness of the room; it was rare to find a man who did not exaggerate to inflate his own ego.

"Your bed looks so comfy! Might I sit on it for a moment?" she asked.

"Of course, make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you. You would be surprised at what a minstrel must put up with sometimes, whilst travelling on the road. Sometimes I am forced to sleep in taverns or boarding houses, and the beds there leave a lot to be desired, to say the least!"

"Lord LeVir," said a servant, nervously entering the room, "your mother requests your presence in the gardens."

"May I wait here for you to return?" Leliana asked the young man with a shy smile.

"By all means, my lady. I shan't be gone long."

When Lord LeVir left with the servant, Leliana counted to ten. Then she jumped off the bed and hurried to the door, cautiously poking her head out into the corridor. It was empty, so she slipped out of the room, thankful that she had decided to wear her delicate slippers today; shoes would have made far too much noise on the cold marble floor. As she ran, she hitched her dress up, so that she would not trip. As much as she loved beautiful long dresses, sometimes they simply got in one's way.

When she reached Lady LeVir's study, she rattled the handle. It was, as she had expected, locked. From the bodice of her dress she withdrew a small leather pouch, and took from it three picking tools. The long, straight tool she pushed into the lock and held in place with her teeth. The two shorter, curved tools she twisted into the lock with both hands, working them around until she heard a _click_. Then the picks went back into the pouch, which she returned to the hidden pocket in her dress.

The door opened easily at her touch, and she quietly put it to behind her. After giving the room a brief glance to ensure it was truly empty, she hurried towards the desk and began rifling through a pile of papers. When it did not yield what she sought, she turned to the drawers, and gave them the same treatment, making sure she returned everything to its original place. With a _tsk_ of vexation she closed the drawers, her hands empty.

A quick survey of the room told her that there were no hidden wall compartments, no loose floorboards, and that the beautiful vases held nothing worth mentioning. Aware that she was running out of time, she turned towards the book case. It was tall, the books shelved higher than she could reach, but there was no ladder present to reach the upper-most shelves. This told her that they were never used, and a fine layer of undisturbed dust on the lowest shelf told her that it also had not seen much action recently.

Starting at one end of the shelf, she carefully examined each book on the middle shelves, looking at the dust patterns around them but ignoring the titles. One book caught her attention; it was out of position by a few millimetres, as if somebody had put it back in haste. The dust in front of it had been recently disturbed too, which made it a good candidate. Slowly, she withdrew it from the shelf.

She set the book down on the desk, and flicked through the pages. There, in the middle, was what she had come here for; letters damning the LeVir family for backing another powerful house in its argument against one more influential and wealthy. Smiling, she placed the letters with her lock picks, and returned the book to the shelf. When she left the room, the door locked automatically behind her, and she hurried back to Lord LeVir's chamber with her heart thumping wildly in her chest and adrenaline coursing through her body. Sometimes, the physical rush of a job well done, a risk gambled and won, was as good as any payment she would later receive.

When Lord LeVir returned, she took his hands, stood on her tiptoes and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. She hoped that he would take her flushed cheeks for a sign of lustful flustering.

"I think, my Lord, I would like to see the gardens now. Soon it will be too dark to see them. But if you like, we can continue our tour after I have performed for your mother and her guests," she smiled.

"I would like that, my Lady," he smiled back, completely oblivious to her machinations. "I would like that very much."

o - o - o - o - o

A plume of dust arose on the horizon, drawing slowly near. From the dust, a horse-drawn carriage coalesced, and Zevran climbed the tree beside the road, shimmying out until he was directly above where the carriage would pass. Bah, trees! No doubt his clothes would be stained from the moss and the bark. Give him a city any day, and leave the great outdoors to those who liked getting dirty... farmers and Dalish and merchants. In his opinion, nothing good could be found this far from civilisation, and he was only eight miles out of Antiva City.

When he judged the timing to be right, he lowered himself from the branch in a great feat of strength, then allowed himself to drop, gravity drawing him ever downwards. He landed heavily atop the carriage, and was almost thrown off when the driver pulled the horses to a halt.

He barely had time to recover himself before two guards climbed up onto the roof from the open doors of the carriage. He quickly slit the throat of one guard, then fell to parrying blows of the second with his sword. For a moment he concentrated on breaking through the guard's defence; he didn't need a killing strike, just enough to break the skin. His weapon was coated with a swift-acting poison, which would kill in less than a minute.

When the guard stepped back and lost his balance at the edge of the roof, he got the opening he was waiting for. He struck out, slicing the guard's arm. The man screamed as the poison entered his blood stream, then fell from the roof of the carriage. As he heard the _thud_ of the body hitting the ground, he turned towards the driver of the carriage.

"Please don't hurt me, I won't put up a fight!" he said. "In fact, you're welcome to her. She's done naught but chew my ear off about my driving ever since we left Antiva."

"You are a true gentleman," said Zevran sarcastically. Then he jumped down from the roof, landing on the floor, and prepared to strike at the occupant of the coach. Only... it was empty. "I hate it when they run," he sighed. "Which way did she go?"

"Er... that way!" said the driver, pointing to nearby trees. Typical.

He set off at a jog, watching the ground for any sign of her footprints. In truth, he was out of his element. Tracking somebody through a city was easy. Tracking them through field and forest was decidedly less so. No doubt somebody with wilderness lore would read volumes from the broken twigs, mossy trees and incomprehensible marks on the ground. But to him, that's all they were; broken twigs, mossy trees, marks on the ground. The tracks he saw might be from the woman, or they might be from a skunk.

In truth, he had never tracked to kill before. This was his first real mission. Previously he had been sent only to observe or interrogate, and those missions had gone much better than this was going. He should have known, when he was given the task, that the woman would be trouble. Not only was she a mage, she had also dabbled in politics, upsetting her colleagues and her masters by doing so. Why they thought she needed to die he did not know, and it was not his place to ask.

Eventually he heard heavy breathing not far ahead, and the sound of somebody trying to make their way quietly through the undergrowth, and failing dismally. He hurried his pace and caught sight of a woman. He ran faster, tackled her to the floor, and drew his dagger, ready to slit her throat.

"Please don't kill me," she begged. He halted for a moment so that he could observe her; her long brown hair, formerly pinned high, had come loose in the chase, and fell about her shoulders in waves. Her eyes, large and brown, held a hint of pleading and of hopeful desperation. Her beautiful dress, red and white cotton and silk, had been stained with dirt and torn in several places along the hem. She had also lost one of her shoes, somewhere. She did not look the type to be at home in the woods, and he was impressed that she had managed to run so far.

"It is nothing personal," he shrugged apologetically.

"Please! I... I have done nothing to deserve death, I swear."

"It is not I who judges such things."

"I can pay you!"

"Ah, were it only that easy. You see, either I kill you, or the Crows kill me for failing to kill you. That is not really an option as far as I am concerned." He raised his blade, ready to strike.

"Wait! Can't you just... just tell them that you killed me! I can give you my locket, to take back as proof."

"And when somebody sees you, and my duplicity is known?"

"Nobody will see me, I promise. I... I've recently come into possession of large manor house on the outskirts of Antiva. I was on my way there when you stopped my carriage and killed my guards. The other mages don't know about it... it was arranged through unofficial means. I will go there, and never return to Antiva. Nobody will know that I have survived."

"Oh? And where is this manor house, pray tell?"

"Along the main road, until you reach a fork. Along that path for many miles, until you come to a large oak tree that overhangs the road. There is a dirt track north, just after the tree, and that leads to the manor."

"And if I choose not to believe that such a place exists?"

"I... I will do anything," she said, biting her lower lip. "And you will not find me wanting."

"Hmm. Your 'anything' intrigues me." He sheathed his dagger and offered the woman a hand, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, her tongue doing things he did not think she would have known about.

"Enough," he said, pulling away from her kiss. "It is almost dark, and anything worth speaking of should not be done in dirty, musty forests. If we are ever able to find your carriage, there you can show me what you are willing to do to save your life."

What the carriage driver thought of him returning with the woman in tow he did not know; the man merely stood beside the horses with his mouth agape as he led her into the carriage. There he spent several hours discovering exactly what a desperate woman was capable of, and he even learnt a thing or two that he hadn't previously known. When morning came he spent some time looking for his clothes, found most of them, and dressed.

"Here, take this, as proof that I am dead," she said, removing the locket from her pale neck and pressing it into his hand. "And should you wish to rethink your association with the Crows, I could use somebody with your... expertise. I will be at the manor."

"Perhaps I will think about it," he said, giving her a lingering farewell kiss.

"I suppose I should tell that fool driver to get us underway," she said, pulling her dress over her head. He stepped out of the carriage, and she followed. But before he could even offer his hand to help her down, her foot slipped, and she tumbled to the floor. Something made a sickening _crack_ sound, and her eyes, staring at the sky, went vacant.

"Well I'll be damned by the Maker," said the driver, staring at the unnatural angle of the woman's body. "She broke her own bloody neck! Fancy that!"

"I suppose she won't be waiting in that manor house after all," said Zevran, feeling somewhat sad about how it had worked out.

"Manor house? That's what she told you? Ha! We were heading to Val Royeaux, in Orlais. S'pose I need to get myself a new job, now."

"Yes. Well, good luck with that."

With his job completed, albeit not by his hand, he began the eight mile walk back to Antiva. And with any luck, nobody would hear about his foolishness.

o - o - o - o - o

Lothering, in the mornings, smelt like sheep and cows. In the afternoons, it smelt like sheep and cows. In the evenings, it smelt like sheep and cows. On occasion, it also smelt like dogs. But that was what Morrigan had come to expect from Lothering, over the years. It was a small village, little more than a stopping point for merchants heading towards the Imperial Road.

She had been visiting Lothering randomly for the past two years, and though at first it had been new and exciting, she now saw it for what it really was; small, dull and unimportant. The people, for the most part, were farmers. There was a Chantry in the village, an inn, and not very much else. Some of the locals knew her by name, and she usually stopped at the inn for a drink, and to listen to rumours from passing merchants. On occasion she had bartered for goods, quite unsuccessfully. Despite her mother's lessons, there was still much about people that she found confusing, and she often came away with the worse half of a deal. Not that it really mattered; she only traded small, unimportant things, like the potions she created from wild herbs and plants.

She longed to roam further afield, to explore more of Ferelden and the countries surrounding it, but such an endeavor was daunting to say the least. Away from the Korcari wilds she would not have the benefit of her mother's protection. She would be alone in a world that frowned upon free magic and those that practised it. Not that she was afraid, but it just wouldn't be sensible to leave until she was older, and better understood how people worked. Yes, wisdom was knowing your own limits and not pushing them too far. And she prided herself on her wisdom.

Striding confidently through Lothering, she wondered where she should go first... the merchant or the inn? Her bartering skills definitely needed some work, but she had come armed with further advice from her mother, so maybe she would have better luck. But on the other hand, she hadn't been to Lothering for many months, and there could be important rumours flowing freely in the tavern. Maybe even something that she could use to her advantage. Her mind made up, she made her way to Dane's Retreat.

There was a commotion on the road ahead. A merchant caravan appeared to be ready to depart, but as soon as he saw her approach, one of the guards - a Chasind man, by the look and sound of him - pointed at her and began spewing nonsense in a language she could not understand. She slowed down, unsure of why the man was creating a scene. She had never met him before, and she didn't recognise him as one of her mother's conquests, so what possible reason could be behind his behaviour?

"What's going on here?" asked a tall man in a shiny suit of armour. Since he was not marked about his person with the templar emblam, a fiery sword, she presumed him to be the Captain of the Guard.

"I don't know what's wrong with him," said one of the merchants, as two more of his guards restrained the Chasind man. "We were just about to leave, but when he saw the young lady here approaching, he just went crazy! I swear, he's never done anything like this before!"

"He... he's not going to hurt me, is he?" she asked breathlessly. For good measure, she batted her eyelashes at the Captain. She had learnt from her mother two important things about men; one, that they thought all women weak and helpless, and two, that they were willing to believe every woman was attracted to them.

"Of course not, good lady," said the Captain, swelling up with pride. "Likely he's had a little too much to drink. A night in the cells will clear his mind. I'm sorry, merchant, but you'll either have to wait, or leave him behind. I can't let him go in that state."

"Bah! Take him, then. Though I swear, he hasn't touched a drop of ale since we arrived. Bloody Chasind. I knew he'd make trouble for us eventually. They're not a civilised folk like you and I, lady."

"No doubt about it," she smiled sweetly as the guards led the Chasind man away. Even restrained and frog-marched, he still managed to point and gibber at her. Quite remarkable, really.

Once the caravan had left, Morrigan went to the inn, where she listened to little rumours from little people. In the end, she decided against staying to barter with the merchant. Eventually the Chasind man would be released, and he may start throwing accusations around. No, she would be far away from this place by the time he was free. It was only wise, after all.

o - o - o - o - o

"Good morning, Alistair. The Maker's blessing on you," one of the Initiate priestesses smiled.

"And on you, Therese," he smiled back, giving her a small bow.

"Hmph," said Stefan by his side after the young woman had moved on. "Therese never smiles at me that way."

"That's probably because whenever you look at her, you make it look like you're mentally undressing her. I swear, I've seen less drool from a Mabari. And they drool a _lot_ at dinner time."

"Oh come on, don't tell me you never think about what she looks like under those tight-fitting robes."

"Not when she's stood right in front of me, Stefan. It's called 'tact'. I guess you were busy thinking of _other_ things during that lesson."

"Guilty as charged," Stefan grinned.

The Chantry bell, high atop the tower, began to toll, and Alistair looked quizzically at his friend. Stefan merely shrugged, a confused expression on his face. Normally, the bell tolled three times for morning prayer, three for afternoon, and three for evening. But morning prayer had been over an hour ago, and it was still well before noon.

"It must be another of the Revered Mother's masses," said Stefan. Alistair nodded. The bell always tolled ten times whenever the Mother wanted to call a mass for the students and teachers. And she did so at her own whim. But when the bell tolled thirteen times, then fourteen, then fifteen, and it didn't stop, Alistair began to worry.

"Maybe it's a practical joke," he suggested. Some of the younger acolytes were given to playing jokes... it was pretty much expected of them, and he had played more than his fair share during his first years at the monastery.

Two priestesses ran by, one of them crying. A group of templar students followed, deep in animated discussion as they hurried towards the Chantry's assembly hall.

"Ho, Ewan!" Stefan called to one of the young men. "What's happening?"

"Haven't you heard? They say King Maric has died. The Mother is calling an assembly... some of the templars say we'll be sent home for a week of mourning whilst the priests and chanters go to Denerim." The young man hurried on after his friends.

"Hear that? King Maric, dead! I wonder what happened. No wonder the bell's still going... they only do that when a member of the royal family dies, you know."

"Yes, I know," said Alistair, his mind in a daze. He allowed Stefan to drag him along to the assembly hall, where hundreds of students of all ages were packed in tightly. It was a scene of uproar; some people were crying, others sitting numbly in their chairs. The younger children, frightened by the commotion, were looking around for somebody to tell them what to do, how to react. Templars were trying to keep order, backed up by the few priestesses who weren't crying.

"I suppose we better instill some order," sighed Stefan. Alistair nodded, and made his way towards the younger students.

"Alright you lot, sit yourselves down," he said calmly. "You've been in assemblies before, you know what to do. The Revered Mother will be along shortly. Until then, just sit down and relax, and consider it a good way of skipping your morning lessons."

It didn't take long at all for the Revered Mother to show, and when she did, an expectant hush settled over the hall. Her presence could do that; with a single look she could quiet hundreds of noisy youngsters. With a single suggestion, Lord and Ladies would rush to hear her words. And now everybody, students, priestesses, chanters and templars alike, leant forward to hear her speak.

"King Maric is dead," she said, and pressed on before the noise could start up again. "Anybody who is able will return to their homes for a week, to observe the proper mourning rights. Most of the teachers here will be travelling with me, to Denerim. Any of you who cannot make the journey home will stay here, in the cloisters, and be watched over by the remaining templars and any older students who remain."

"Alistair," whispered someone behind him. He turned, and found himself looking at the Knight-Captain. "Arl Eamon Guerrin is here to see you. I have shown him to your quarters. I excuse you from assembly, so that you may speak to him."

Alistair bowed, and left the assembly hall, travelling the familiar corridors back to his room, near those of the other templar students. It was a route he could walk blindfolded... in fact, he had done so once, as part of a dare. Now, he felt like he was blindfolded again; walking without seeing where he was going.

Inside his room, Arl Eamon was seated on a chair by the bed. He looked older than Alistair remembered, and he wondered how Eamon had aged so quickly. Perhaps it was married life... they did say that marrying aged you.

"Alistair," said Eamon, standing from the chair with a smile. "It has been a while."

"Two years and four months, give or take."

"I didn't know you kept track."

Alistair shrugged. It wasn't as if it was important anymore. At first, Arl Eamon's visits to the monastery had been every few months. But Alistair had still been angry with Eamon for sending him away, and he didn't make those visits pleasant for the Arl. The months between visits had grown longer, and eventually Eamon had stopped coming. Until now.

"I suppose the Revered Mother is just breaking the news, about Maric?" said Eamon.

"Yes. She called an assembly. The students are being sent home for a week." The Arl nodded at his words.

"I thought that might be the case. We heard about it yesterday, and set out immediately. I'm on my way to Denerim, with Isolde, Connor, and a retinue of knights. But I wanted to stop here first, to give you the chance to come with us."

"I don't think it would be appropriate for me to travel to Denerim with your family during this time. You, at least, are brother to Queen Rowan, and she will no doubt need your comfort. I have no right to be there."

"You have more right than most..."

"No. It has been made very clear to me, over the years, that I have no rights at all where the royal family is concerned. As far as everybody knows, King Maric has only one son, and that is Cailan. I don't think it would be... appropriate... for me to attend the King's funeral, or Prince Cailan's crowning. The King was a stranger to me in life, and he should remain so in death. If he wanted it any other way, you would not have been the one to raise me."

"I understand how you feel. Will you at least come down to the courtyard, to say hello to Isolde, and Connor? You haven't seen my son since he was two... I think he would like to meet you again, especially given that he won't remember the first time."

"I would like to meet him again," he admitted, recalling the image of the bubbly, red-haired little boy who was the spitting image of his father. "But Lady Isolde does not care for me. I don't think she would approve. And I don't want to delay your departure. I get the feeling that the road to Denerim is going to be full of people soon... you don't want to get stuck behind the Revered Mother... before you know it she'll be guilt-tripping you into signing away half your estate to the Chantry."

"Yes, I suppose we can't stay much longer. Here, I have something for you, but you mustn't open it until next week." The Arl gave him a large, heavy object, wrapped in hessian sacking.

"What's this for?" he asked, surprised at the sudden gift.

"Your eighteenth birthday. Or have you forgotten that it's next week?"

"Oh, I suppose I had."

"I will try to stop by the monastery on my way back from Denerim, to be here when you open it. But don't wait for me, in case I am delayed at the palace. It was good to see you again, Alistair. You've grown into a young man whom your mother could be proud of, I believe."

"Thank you, Arl Eamon. And have a safe journey."

When the Arl had gone, Alistair set the gift down on his bed. Eighteen. Where had the years gone? It felt like only yesterday that he had arrived at the monastery, a wide-eyed boy afraid of his own shadow. Connor would be seven, now... almost eight. How much had the Castle changed in that time? Were the old servants still there? Did the cook still make those lovely dishes of cherry pie? Was Isolde still the ice-queen that he remembered?

With a sigh, he put Eamon's gift under his bed. He doubted that the Arl would be back for his birthday... after all, he hadn't been around for any of the past eight either. But then again, he'd seen more of them than his real father had. King Maric hadn't seen a single one of his illegitimate son's birthdays. Maybe it had to be that way. Maybe not. Only the Maker would know, now. Still, there was no time for idle fancy. For the next week he would be kept busy by the students remaining behind at the monastery. After the end of the week, Cailan would be King, and life would go on. It always did.


	3. Of Rituals

Origins

_Four years later..._

_3. Of Rituals_

Alistair sniffed the warm fresh air, trying to detect the slightest hint of anything foul. It was said by Niel, one of the other recruits, that Darkspawn gave off a terrible stench that could be smelt miles away, and that seemed as good a way as any to prepare for an attack. He did secretly wonder, though, how the Darkspawn managed to pull off so many successful ambushes if they could be smelt miles away.

By his side, Niel was doing likewise. No doubt to the others behind them - Samuel and Cade - they looked like a pair of dogs, testing the air for quarry. Only, it wasn't a case of actually hunting the Darkspawn, rather, it was a matter of waiting for the Darkspawn to find them and being as ready as possible for the attack.

At the head of their small group, Kylwk strode confidently up the hill. He was one of the few Chasind to have joined the Grey Wardens since the last Blight, and he was a seasoned veteran. Alistair was glad for the old man's presence, glad that Duncan had not sent them off into the Southron Hills alone, to grow lost, weary and frightened.

As they ascended the steep slope, the Hinterland river, on their right hand side, rapidly fell away. Thousands of years of water action had caused the river to cut through the Hills, creating a rocky landscape of high ravines and bare scar surfaces. Though the forest was rich and verdant down below beside the river banks, at this elevation only occasional spruce and pine trees grew, with an occasional dwarf birch, wizened and gnarled by the harsh cold and wind.

"What say we make a small wager?" said Samuel.

"What kind of wager?" asked Niel, panting heavily. A former minstrel more used to signing tales in taverns than climbing strenuously and hunting Darkspawn, he wasn't faring as well as the others. Cade had been a sailor before Duncan had enticed him away from the sea, and Samuel a promising young officer in the King's royal guard. Alistair didn't mind Cade; the man was quiet but not reticent, and seemed quite able to keep his calm in a difficult situation. But try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to like Samuel, and could only tolerate him at best. Samuel seemed to believe that he was better than the other recruits, that because he had been an officer in the King's guard he deserved to be a Grey Warden more than anyone else.

Niel, on the other hand, was a likeable man who had travelled across the length and breadth of Ferelden. Though he tended to worry easily, he had a generous and non-judgmental nature which more than made up for any other shortcomings.

"The first of us to kill a Darkspawn and get the vial of blood gets a gold sovereign from the others," Samuel suggested.

"If I had a gold sovereign, I'd pay you to kill a Darkspawn for me," Niel quipped.

"Count me in," said Cade. Samuel smiled, obviously aware that few sailors could pass up a gamble.

"Alistair?" he asked. "Or perhaps you know how unlikely you are to be the first to kill something. If you are afraid of losing money, you have no need to join our wager."

"Count me in as well," he replied. "And I'll put up a sovereign for Niel, too."

"Hmm. Isn't gambling a sin in the eyes of the Maker?" said Samuel, feigning innocence. "Whatever would the Revered Mother say?"

"She'd probably wish me luck and tell me not to believe that you actually have a silver to your name, much less a sovereign."

Niel laughed, and even Cade gave a snort of amusement. Samuel merely glared; he wasn't the fastest, most imaginative thinker. He would think up a comeback eventually, but it would take him a while.

"Look sharp, boys, we're about to have company." Kylwk gripped the handle of his long axe, hefting it into position.

Alistair drew his own sword, feeling a sheen of sweat suddenly coat his body. Though he had trained with a sword for years, and even used it for its intended purpose on occasion, he had never fought Darkspawn before. What if he did something wrong? What if he froze and was struck down? Worse, what if someone else was killed because of him?

He did not have time to wonder for long. Six small Darkspawn, the type known as Genlock, appeared from behind a large out-cropping of rock and began firing arrows at their group. He raised his shield, feeling two thuds as arrows impacted the wood, and saw Niel firing back with his own bow. From behind came more missiles; turning his head, he saw Cade also returning fire with his small crossbow.

He had already been told by Duncan that Darkspawn were not the smartest creatures in the world, that they saw the most protected members of any group as the biggest threat. That meant that he, Samuel and Kylwk would be their primary targets, leaving Cade and Niel more or less free to act without harassment.

The rain of arrows suddenly stopped, and guttural cries came from the Genlock. Risking a glance over his shield, he noticed they had dropped their bows and taken up swords, and were advancing towards Kylwk. Without a second thought for his own safety, he rushed forward, with Samuel just behind him.

Alistair chose his attacker, one particular Genlock that was trying to flank Kylwk. He caught the beast's attention by kicking it, then brought his sword into play, slashing at the creature, trying to break through its guard.

Though Genlock were nothing more than common foot-soldiers, they were not without skill; his opponent blocked and parried every thrust that he made. In addition, the Darkspawn's twisted visage made him feel nauseous, not because it was so monstrous, but because there was something inside it that seemed almost Human.

For a moment his concentration wavered, and the Genlock attacked forward with its sword, trying to break through his defence. He took a step back as he raised his shield, then felt the ground shifting beneath him. He had no time to act; the rocks beneath his foot gave way and he lost his balance. Then the world began to spin as he fell backwards, down into the ravine that he had forgotten was there.

o - o - o - o - o

Pain in his lungs woke him from darkness, and he opened his eyes. Above him was a face, pale and beautiful; large grey eyes were framed with dark green paint, and a dark, intricate design patterned the skin beneath the eyes and across the forehead, sweeping back towards the hairline.

The burning pain in his lungs grew more severe, and he tilted his head to one side to cough up water he didn't remember swallowing. The face disappeared from view, and for a moment all he could think about was the pain in his lungs and throat as he struggled to draw breath.

At last his coughing stopped, his lungs and stomach empty of the water he had inhaled. He looked up at the outline of branches against the sky, watched them dancing gently in the breeze. Then the face reappeared in his vision, merely watching him.

"Maker?" he asked, hoping, on some level, that he had died and was being greeted by some agent of the Maker. The woman laughed, though what he found amusing he did not know.

"Perhaps in your dreams, shemlen," she said. Then her eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just thought I'd lie down in a forest. You know how it is."

"Tell me what you're doing here or I will kill you." The former mirth in her voice was gone, replaced with unfeigned hostility. He saw a flash of metal, and something cold and sharp was pressed against his neck.

"I'm hunting Darkspawn," he said, deciding truth would be in his best interest.

"Why?"

"For a ritual."

"What sort of ritual?"

"To become a Grey Warden." Apparently satisfied with his answer, the knife was removed from his neck. "What have you done to me? I can't feel my legs." Try as he might, he couldn't feel anything below his waist. It was as if _he_ knew that his legs should be there, responding, but his body had other ideas.

"You remember nothing?" the woman asked, surprised. "I was following the river when I heard a cry for help. I saw you fall down the ravine, hitting the ground many times. Then you were thrown into the river. It carried you for a short distance, but your armour is heavy; you began to sink. Feeling benevolent, I swam out and plucked you from the water. You are very heavy, by the way. I managed to drag you here, to a drier place, and now here we are. I suspect you damaged something inside, when you fell. I am no healer, but I suspect have damaged your back. Broken it, probably."

"I see," he said, feeling numb inside. Paralysis, out here, was akin to a death sentence. Oblivious to his thoughts, the woman leaned in closer, to examine his face.

"I have never seen a shem before. Are you all so large and ugly?" It was then that he realised she was an elf. And not just any elf; a Dalish elf.

"No, some of us are smaller and attractive," he said, scraping up the last vestiges of humour that he could find.

"I don't believe you."

There was the sound of movement not far away, and the woman disappeared in a heartbeat, melting into the forest as if she was part of it herself. His hopes began to rise; perhaps Kylwk and the other recruits had found him. They would be able to take him back to Duncan, back to civilisation, where he could be healed. But when the figures stepped out of the forest, they were not Kylwk and the recruits, but two Darkspawn, a Genlock and a much larger Hurlock. Grinning, they advanced on him, their weapons drawn.

Something whistled through the air, piercing the throat of the Genlock. There was a flurry of motion, and even as he moved his hands to reach for his sword which was no longer there, the sounds of weapons clashing rang in his ears. He heard swords strike each other four times, then there was the sound of something sharp piercing flesh. An instant later, something heavy hit the ground. Then a curved dagger was thrust into the earth beside his head. Looking at it, he saw dark, sticky blood trickling down it.

"You are lucky, shem," said the elf, breathing heavily as she sat down beside him.

"Why's that?" He didn't feel particularly lucky. He was wet, cold, alone and facing paralysis and death.

"Because I too am hunting Darkspawn."

"What for?"

"A ritual."

"What sort of ritual?"

"The people of my clan call me da'len. I hunt Darkspawn to prove myself as a warrior, so that I may become a protector of my people, and so that they will call me da'len no longer."

"They sent you here alone?" he asked, impressed at the woman's fearlessness.

"They sent me nowhere. I came here willingly. Why did your people send _you_ alone?"

"I'm not alone... or at least I wasn't. There were three other recruits with me, and a Grey Warden to make sure we didn't trip over our own blades. So far, it's not working out very well for me."

"There are other shems here?" Was it his imagination, or did he sense alarm in her voice?

"Yes."

"Then I will remain until they come for you."

"I doubt they will."

"Oh? I have heard tales of Grey Wardens. Somehow I doubt they would leave their own behind."

"They probably think I'm dead."

"And you will be, if you don't keep your voice down. Do you wish to draw all the Darkspawn in the forest down upon us?"

"I don't see why not. It would be faster than waiting here to die of exposure. I can't feel my hands now, by the way."

"Were my people close by, I could ask our Keeper to heal you. But they are not. Instead, you will have to make do with this potion that she gave me before I left. She told me it would heal anything and everything except death itself. I am going to give you this potion, but if you try anything foolish, such as attacking me, then I will cut out your heart... presuming you have one... and take it back to my people. Shemlen hearts are a delicacy amongst the Dalish."

Not even waiting for an answer she removed and rolled up her cloak, lifting his head to place it beneath him. Then she took a bottle of glowing green liquid from the small backpack she carried and removed the stopper. Supporting his head with more care than he would have thought her capable of, she lowered the bottle towards his lips, giving him small sips at a time so that he didn't choke.

"It will not take long to work," she said, putting the empty bottle away. "You should feel nothing but a pleasant tingling. Do not mistake this for anything other than the magic at work in your body."

Apparently satisfied with her work, she took the dagger from the ground and made her way to the Genlock corpse. True to her words, he felt his skin begin to tingle, and the feeling slowly returned to his hands. He propped himself up, and watched her. Using her dagger she cut open the clothes of the Darkspawn. The she drove it into the creature's chest, cutting through skin and muscle to expose the ribs. From her belt she removed a stone hammer, and began smashing the ribs on the left side of its chest. A wave of nausea passed over him when she used her dagger in the Darkspawn's chest cavity to cut out its heart. This she placed into a water-tight pouch, and it went into her pack.

"Are those a delicacy too?" he asked.

"Do not be foolish. The flesh of Darkspawn is tainted. Poison. To eat it brings death. This is merely evidence." She performed the same open-heart surgery on the Hurlock, then surveyed the bloody mess she had made. She didn't seem in the least affected by the gore.

"All I have to bring back is a vial of blood," he said at last.

"You cannot have these. They are mine."

"I don't want them. I think I'm supposed to kill the Darkspawn myself, or at least with the other recruits. It would probably be considered cheating if you killed them."

"That is a very honourable statement... for a shem," she said, quirking an elegant eyebrow. "Wiggle your toes."

He moved his toes and his boot moved with them. The woman nodded, wiped her dagger on a piece of cloth, then dropped the cloth onto one of the corpses as she stood.

"Good. You are recovered. Now you can help me to burn these bodies."

"Burn them? Why?"

"Left here, they will taint the land. Their flesh will be consumed by flies and insects and worms, which will spread the taint wherever they go. Their blood will find its way to the river, and into the water table, tainting the whole forest, and any that drink from the water. Only fire can cleanse. The fire will also warm and dry you, and act as a beacon to your companions. Firewood is plentiful here. Gather some, while I find kindling."

With some apprehension he stood, but when his legs supported him without complaint he felt confident enough to move. Dalish healers must be powerful indeed, to heal something so serious in so short a time. He began to gather armfuls of deadwood, and piled them beside the bodies.

"What's your name?" he asked after a while.

"You have not earned the right to know my name," she said, frowning in concentration as she used flint stones to create a spark for the fire. "You may call me da'len."

"What does it mean?"

"It does not have a direct translation into your language. Perhaps the closest comparison would be... 'little one', or 'dear one'."

"I haven't earned the right to call you by your name, but I can call you 'dear one'?" he asked. A strange people. A strange woman.

"It is a patronising name that one might use for a small child, or perhaps a favoured Halla."

"I don't want to call you a patronising name... you saved my life, after all."

"I have given you a name by which to call me. Use it, or simply call me 'elf', or 'Dalish', or whatever else it is you shems call us by."

"Fine. I'm pleased to meet you, Da'len. I am Alistair."

"What does 'Alistair' mean?"

"Well... I don't know. It doesn't really mean anything, it's just my name."

"Then it is the label that other shems affix to you; it is not who you _are_."

"I don't understand."

"No. You do not."

He fell to silence as the fire began to burn. When it was large enough, he helped Da'len to throw the Hurlock corpse onto it, and the Genlock followed soon after. Then he stood for a time in front of the fire, letting it warm his body and dry his clothes. At the same time, he studied his saviour a little more closely.

Physically speaking, she wasn't all that different to the city elf servants that could be found in almost any Ferelden town. She was shorter than a human woman, lithe, with fine features. Her dark brown hair was mostly pulled back into a ponytail, though stray wisps and strands had broken free, framing her face. The tattoo across her face gave her a foreign, somewhat primitive look, but in a way, it suited her. Her leather armour appeared to be made from strong, supple hide, and was painted with images of trees, birds and other creatures of the forest. The plain brown shirt that she wore beneath it had long sleeves and a high collar, that stopped just below her jaw line. He trousers, skin-tight and brown like her shirt, were tucked into soft leather boots that stopped just below her knee. Though her clothes were a little damp, no doubt from when she saved him from the river, she did not appear cold or uncomfortable.

What truly separated her from the rest of the elves he had ever met, though, was her attitude. City elves were meek and often timid, quick to serve out of fear of punishment from their masters. Try as he might, he couldn't imagine anyone giving this elf an instruction, or ordering her to shine his shoes. Most likely that would end up with somebody dead, and it probably wouldn't be her. Where the elves of cities scurried, crept and cringed their way through their master's homes, the Dalish woman had no master, other than herself, and she stalked through the forest like a tigress.

"If you continue to look at me in such a way, I will cut out your eyes," she scowled.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to stare. I was just admiring your tattoos. What do they mean?"

"I have one for every shem I have killed for staring at or offending me."

"Right. I should have guessed that."

"I am leaving now. You are no longer injured or in danger of dying, and I have one more Darkspawn heart to find."

"Maybe I can help you," he suggested, hoping to repay her for saving his life.

"You wish to be bait again?"

"No... but we could work together to find and kill a Darkspawn. It's what I'd be doing with the recruits right now if I hadn't decided to go for a swim instead. After all, you need a heart, I need blood. We could kill two birds with one stone."

"If you leave, your people will come and find only a fire."

"Then I suppose I'll have to make my own way back to them later."

"Very well. But you have no weapon... can you shoot a bow?"

"Yes."

"Then you may borrow mine."

"Oh, you meant shoot a bow and hit something? No, I'm not sure I could do it. The actual shooting part I'm fine with, the hitting... not so much."

"Are all shems so incompetent?" she sighed. "No, do not answer that. Here, take my Dar'Misaan." She drew the long, curved blade from the scabbard on her left hip. He took it from her and turned it in his hand a few times, gaining a sense of its weight and balance. Though lighter than he was used to, it was nevertheless finely made and well-balanced.

"You said this is called a Dar'Misaan? What does that mean?"

"Long-Blade."

"And your other one..?" he asked, gesturing at the dagger.

"Dar'Misu."

"Short-Blade?"

"Well done. Sometimes we call it the companion blade, for that is what it is; a companion to its bigger brother, though no less effective. If you are done asking questions, we should go. It will be night soon, and Darkspawn are easier to hunt by daylight."

With a nod, he gestured for her to lead the way.

o - o - o - o - o

Looking into the clearing from his vantage point in the forest, Alistair recognised the figures standing around the fire. Once it had been a roaring bonfire that consumed the corpses of two Darkspawn; now it was reduced to a small blaze, barely large enough to light the area.

"It seems your friends have come for you," said Da'len. In the moonlight she looked even paler than she had during the day, and her hair was crusted in places with dry Darkspawn blood. But that didn't detract from her appearance, it merely made her seem all the more fierce.

"Yes. Will you come and meet them? I'm sure Kylwk will be grateful to you, for saving my life."

"No. I have no desire to meet the shems. One per day is more than enough for me."

"Here is your sword back," he said, handing her the Dar'Misaan. "Thank you for pulling me from the river. And for not letting the Darkspawn kill me. And for not leaving me to die alone. And for helping me with the blood. And for anything else you might have done that I'm not aware of."

"You are welcome. Who knows, maybe I will return to my people and tell them that not all shems are vicious, ungrateful beasts. Maybe I will find you one day when you are an old and wizened Grey Warden, and you can tell your grandchildren the story of how an elf saved your life. Or maybe I will see you in the Beyond, long after we both have perished. Farewell, Alistair."

Without waiting for a word from him she turned and entered the forest, disappearing easily into the shadows.

"Good luck, Da'len," he said quietly. He slipped his hand into his pocket and felt the warm vial of Darkspawn blood that was carefully nestled there. Then he turned back to the firelight, back to the four figures who were examining the ground. Taking care to make as much noise as possible, so that he was not shot by accident, he made his way forward.

Kylwk was the first to hear him, and his axe was brandished in the blink of an eye. The other recruits drew their weapons, only relaxing when he stepped close enough to the firelight to be recognised.

"Alistair! We thought you'd been dragged off by Darkspawn for sure!" said Niel.

"My money was on you having hit your head and drowned," said Samuel, showing no surprise or concern over his reappearance.

"I'm glad you're well," said Cade.

"As am I," said Kylwk, eyeing him skeptically. "I wasn't looking forward to returning to Duncan and telling him that I'd lost you."

"You must have the blessings of the Maker, to have survived after that fall. You _must_ tell me what happened... this is an epic tale in the making, I just know it," said Niel.

"The Maker had little to do with it, I'm afraid. I did fall, and I almost drowned, but a Dalish saw me and rescued me."

"Dalish? There are Dalish around here?" The former minstrel glanced nervously from side to side, at the shadows on the edge of the clearing.

"Just one."

"You are lucky to be alive," said Cade. "We are safe from the Dalish, at sea, but I've heard tales about them. It's said caravans travelling by the Dales forests often go missing, never heard of again."

"You'd have done Ferelden a favour by killing the tyrant," said Samuel. He wiped an imaginary spot of dirt from his shirt. "Now I suppose we have to worry about having our throats cut in the dark, as well as being ambushed by Darkspawn."

"Are we safe?" Niel asked Kylwk before Alistar could get a word in edgewise.

"We're as safe now as we were before. The Dalish prefer to avoid contact with Humans. One on his own would never attack an armed group, and if there's a camp of them, they'll move on rather than instigating a fight. It's only when you wander too close to their camps, where their women and children are, that you're in danger."

"By the way, you owe me a sovereign," said Samuel. "As the only one without Darkspawn blood, perhaps you should make that two. A forfeit of sorts."

"Sorry to disappoint you," said Alistair, taking the vial of blood from his pocket and holding it up to the firelight.

"I see you've been busy since you almost died," said Kylwk. He gestured to the bones in the fire which were all that was left of the Darkspawn corpses. "I had wondered if these were your work, and how you had the presence of mind to burn them."

"They weren't mine, but I decided to go and find some blood while I waited for you to find me. I came across a charming Hurlock fellow who was good enough to fill a vial."

"Impressive," said Kylwk, though his expression hadn't changed an inch. Alistair wondered if he actually was impressed. "Now that the area is safe, we will sleep here for the night and travel back to Duncan by daylight."

"What? Sleep? With forests full of Darkspawn and Dalish?" said Niel in alarm.

"As I told you earlier, I can sense the Darkspawn. There are none nearby, and I will sense them before their approach."

"Can you also sense Dalish?" asked Cade.

"No. For all I know we could be surrounded by them. But what good does worrying do? You can't fight against something you cannot see, hear or feel. The best thing for you to do is get some sleep. You'll need it before the ritual tomorrow. Alistair, here is your sword. You dropped it before you fell. Your shield, I suspect, has been lost to the river. If that upsets you, be thankful that you were not lost to it also."

"Thank you, Kylwyk," he said, graciously accepting the sword back. It slid into the scabbard easily, though it would need oiling as soon as he returned to the Grey Warden camp. None of the other recruits spoke, so he threw a few more pieces of wood onto the fire and settled down beside it. Remembering Da'len's words, he checked for Darkspawn blood on the ground and was relieved to find none. Stretching out in the cool summer night, he looked up at the stars, and wondered if, somewhere, she was looking up at them too.

o - o - o - o - o

"You have all done well," said Duncan. "And now it is time for you to learn about the joining ritual." Beside him, on the table, was a silver chalice, filled with a black liquid that held a strange purple sheen on its surface. "For as long as the Grey Wardens have existed, this ritual has been used to initiate them. You will all drink of the Darkspawn blood which you retrieved. In doing so, you will master the taint, and gain the abilities of a Grey Warden. But if you are not strong enough, you will succumb to the taint, and perish. This is why the ritual is kept a secret."

"Maker's breath!" said Niel, his face pale. Alistair knew just how he felt. His body felt frozen, and he recalled Da'len's warning that Darkspawn flesh and blood was poison. She had feared the taint more than the Darkspawn themselves. Did Duncan mean to kill them all?

"We have a few words to be spoken, according to tradition. Kylwk?"

"Join us, brothers. Join us where we stand vigilant in the shadows. Join us as we uphold the duty that cannot be forsworn. And know, should you perish, that we will join you eventually. Know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten."

"Step forward, Niel," said Duncan.

The minstrel paled even further as he took shaky steps forward. Duncan held the chalice to his lips, allowing the man to drink a small amount of the blood. Niel's reaction was almost immediate; his body began to shake and convulse as the poison was absorbed into his blood stream. He began panting, fighting for breath, and just when Alistair thought the young man would perish, his eyes rolled up into his head and he fainted. On the floor, his chest could be seen rising and falling as he took slow, deep breaths.

"Step forward, Samuel," said Duncan. The young man stepped forward with a little less swagger than normal, and he glanced once or twice at Niel from the corner of his eye. Again, Duncan administered the blood, and again the recruit began shaking and convulsing. But where Niel had fainted, Samuel began choking, foaming at the mouth. He scratched at his neck as if his airway was closed off, then doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach. He fell to the ground, and moved no more.

"I am sorry, Samuel," said Duncan, and Alistair sensed genuine regret in his voice. "Step forward, Cade." The normally calm sailor began shaking with fear as he approached the Grey Warden, and though his hands shook as he held the chalice, he took a sip nonetheless. Again the effects were immediate, and again the young man began shaking uncontrollably. After the first initial convulsions he collapsed, breathing deeply.

"Step forward, Alistair," said Duncan. Slowly, he forced his feet to move. He tried not to look at Samuel, at the blood flowing from the man's nose and ears, at his cold, empty eyes, staring in horror at nothing his own eyes could see. He carefully stepped over Niel and Cade, both seemingly asleep on the floor. He wondered what they dreamt of; their bodies twitched slightly, as if they were trying to move.

When he reached Duncan he allowed the Grey Warden to hold the chalice to his lips and pour Darkspawn blood into his mouth. He swallowed quickly, the taste of bitter iron strong as the blood touched his tongue. Then he became aware that he was falling into darkness, his vision blurring so that nothing was recognisable. By the time his body starting convulsing, his mind was already gone, to some other place, another world, one where the darkness reigned.

* * *

Note: Kylwk. Pronounced like 'Cwlwch'. As in, Olwen and.

Yes, Niel spelt that way intentionally. Madness, I know.


	4. Ostagar

Origins

_4. Ostagar_

Kai looked down on the ruins of Ostagar. Her people knew little of this place, save that it was old. Duncan had told her that it had been built long ago by the Tevinter Imperium, to stem the flow of barbarian wilders attacking the northern lowlands. He had described to her in some detail which groups of shemlen were currently camped there, and who were their leaders. But like all of her people she cared little enough for humans, and had barely listened to his words.

"How do you feel?" Duncan asked. He was standing beside her, observing her as she took in the sight of Ostagar. With a shiver she pulled her dark brown cloak closer to her body, trying to keep out the harsh, biting wind that tried to find its way to her skin.

"Mentally, physically, or emotionally?"

"All of the above."

"Mentally and emotionally, I am tired. It was hard to leave my tribe, especially so soon after Tamlen... especially now. Physically, the malaise comes and goes. It has grown stronger, the further south we have travelled, but I am a long way from succumbing to it."

"I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that we're almost at the end of our journey."

"I hope not, sh... Duncan. I was led to believe that my journey is only just beginning," she said. Shemlen, or 'humans', as she was slowly coming to think of them, were strange. They seemed to think that words could have only one meaning. Duncan referred to their physical journey, expecting it to be the only one she cared about.

"Yes, metaphorically speaking, the journey of your life is just beginning. The end of our current journey will be a new beginning for you," he clarified.

"Then let us meet the future head on." She gestured for him to lead the way to Ostagar.

The forests that they travelled through reminded her of home, though they weren't quite as dense, nor as untamed. Still, it was nice to wander amongst the trees and pretend, for a while, that all was well. She knew that soon she would have little time for wandering, or for idle pretence.

It didn't take long for them to reach Ostagar, and they were met at the forest-side of the bridge by three other shemlen. Two of them flanked the third protectively, and she wondered if he was a noble. Shemlen nobles were said to keep many 'flat-ear' servants - elves who were content stay in cities and forget who they were, forget they had ever been free. Her people held the flat-ears in disdain, and pitied them.

She watched warily as the third shemlen greeted Duncan in a familiar way. Duncan was only the fifth shem that she had ever met, and he didn't seem too bad. He was a Grey Warden though; their behaviour was expected to be better than that of other shems.

When the man who greeted Duncan was introduced to her as King Cailan, she greeted him respectfully and allowed him to shake her hand in welcome. When he turned his attention back to Duncan, she observed him, comparing him to the Grey Warden. He was young and tall - which wasn't saying much, since most shems were taller than the Elvhenan - and his long golden hair was free, blown about by the breeze. Like many shem warriors of olden tales, he had clad himself in heavy armour, apparently believing that one needed to be protected like a tortoise in order to stay safe from harm.

Their conversation revolved around the impending Darkspawn attack. The King seemed to believe that it wasn't a true Blight, as it lacked something called an Arch Demon. In fact, he seemed quite disappointed about it. Duncan, meanwhile, was more cautious, not offering false optimism.

"I'd better go," said the King at last. "Or Loghain will send out a search party for me. I'll see you later at the meeting, Duncan. Good luck with the Wardens, Kai."

"It worries me that he makes light of a situation you worry so much about," she said after he had gone.

"Cailan is quite without fear... he believes that the legend of the Grey Wardens makes him invulnerable. I, on the other hand, have seen what the Darkspawn are capable of. I believe there is an Arch Demon behind this, but I cannot ask the King to act solely on my feelings. As you heard, we are expecting the Darkspawn to attempt another attack tomorrow... bigger than any they have previously tried. Therefore, it is all the more urgent that we begin the ritual as soon as possible."

"Perhaps we should have brought Darkspawn blood with us from those we found in the caves near my tribe."

"What makes you think we'll need Darkspawn blood?" Duncan asked, unable to mask his surprise.

"I am not as ignorant as you might think, Duncan," she told him flippantly.

"I don't think you're ignorant at all, but what you speak of is a closely guarded Grey Warden secret. How much more do you know?"

"Nothing, I assure you." He met her gaze for a moment, then nodded.

"Very well. For now, I want you to walk around the camp, familiarise yourself with its layout. When you have had something to eat and drink, seek out another Grey Warden there by the name of Alistair. Tell him that you are ready to summon the other recruits and begin the ritual."

"Alistair?" she said, cocking her head to one side at the familiarity of the name. "A tall, fair-haired shemlen with a questionable sense of humour?" She laughed aloud at the surprise on his face. "Yes, Duncan, I will go to your camp, I will wander around and be impressed by things I have never seen before. I will speak to this Grey Warden you call Alistair, and then you will tell me why you refused to speak of the cure for my illness before now."

Before Duncan could protest she set off across the bridge, fixing her sight on the extensive ruins on the other side. Down below - far down below - was the forest and a river, and some of the King's forces camped out ready for battle. For a brief moment she had an overwhelming urge to jump over the side, but the moment passed and she walked on.

Safely across the bridge, she entered the camp, and stopped to stare at the sight. She had never imagined that there could be so many shemlen in one place! They came in all forms; male and female, big and small, resplendent and plain, armoured and not. An occasional flat-ear ran amongst them, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste at the sight of them.

Her progress through the camp was slow. She stopped many times to stare at something new that captured her attention. The priestess, handing out blessings from the shemlen god, the one they called 'Maker', she avoided like the plague. She also avoided the camp of sick and wounded soldiers; there was no telling what illnesses they might inflict on her, or she on them.

Finding the Grey Warden Duncan mentioned was harder than she had imagined. It wasn't as if they wore signs, to announce who they were - she would recommend that, the next time she saw Duncan - and the shemlen men tended to look _so_ alike. It wasn't until she truly stopped to look at them that she was able to differentiate between them. When her open staring brought glares and recommendations for her to find something useful to do, she moved on before somebody offended her and she was forced to harm them.

When she realised she had already circled the camp twice, she made her way deeper into the ruins. As far as ruins went, they were impressive. The whole place was white stone, shining beautifully in the sun. The land was already well on its way to reclaiming the remains of Ostagar; creepers, vines and lianas wound their way up the elegant limestone columns. Mosses, grasses and sedges grew in nooks and crannies, and weeds were poking up from cracks in the paving. In a few hundred years, this place would be beautiful, a reminder than nature could not be held at bay forever.

The sound of voices drew her on into the ruins, until she came across two figures standing on an open floor not far away. Quietly she stole closer, and stepped behind a pillar so that she could observe without being seen. One of the figures was a mage, and he appeared irate over being summoned to some woman the other figure referred to as the 'Revered Mother'. It sounded somewhat religious. Probably related to their Chantry, she decided.

As the figures argued, her sense of mischief kicked in, and she silently crept through the encroaching undergrowth to stand behind the armoured man. When the mage left, fuming, she stepped out of the bushes and waited for a moment, studying the man before her to confirm his identity to herself.

"Aneth ara, Alistair," she said, making him jump almost out of his skin.

"What? Da'len?" he asked, blinking rapidly several times as if he did not believe his eyes. "Where did you come from? What are you doing here? When you threatened to track me down I didn't think it would be so soon. As you can see, I'm not old and wrinkly yet, and I definitely don't have any grandchildren to tell stories to."

"You may call me Kai," she said graciously. "If we are to be Grey Wardens together, you should know me by who I am."

"Grey Wardens... wait, _you're_ Duncan's new recruit?"

"You could say that. Although 'recruit' implies some level of willingness, so it may not be an accurate description."

"He conscripted you?"

"Not exactly. It is a long story."

"I like long stories."

"Can we talk over food? I haven't eaten since yesterday. Duncan said I should eat and drink before we begin the ritual."

"Oh, of course. Come this way."

He led her out of the ruins, through a short-cut she hadn't realised was there, and back into the camp. He took two plates of meat and vegetables from what appeared to be a communal cooking area, and carried them both to a marginally quieter area of the camp, beneath tall, shady trees.

"What does 'Kai' mean?" he asked as she sat down and accepted a plate.

"It means 'peace'. I am told it is what my mother hoped my birth would bring."

"And did it?"

"No. Unable to live after my father's death at the hands of shems and flat-ears, she wandered into the forest one night not long after my birth and was never seen again."

"I'm sorry."

"What for? Did you kill my father?"

"No, of course not."

"Then you have nothing to be sorry for."

"I meant... sorry for bringing it up."

"You didn't. I did not have to answer your question. I could have answered but not elaborated. I could have chosen an entirely different explanation. Do not apologise for me mentioning it; rather, be glad that I gave you the answer I did."

"Alright. Anyway, you were saying before, about Duncan conscripting you...?"

"Yes. It began several days ago. I was scouting an area not far from my tribe's camp with my friend, Tamlen, when three shemlen men ran into us. Literally. They told us they had found ruins nearby, but that a demon was guarding the way. We allowed the men to live, and decided to explore the ruins ourselves." She was silent for a moment, playing through the events of the day in her head. She could still smell the damp mustiness of the place, still hear the droplets of water splashing from the roof, slowly forming stalactites and stalagmites, still sense the oppressive darkness that pressed in around them.

"We found and slew the demon," she continued. "Then we came across something neither of us had ever seen before; a tall mirror, set in stone. We both paid a price for our foolishness that day, and I'm not sure which of us paid most. When Tamlen looked into the mirror, something looked back. A wave of dark energy emanated from the mirror, passing through us both. Tamlen was closer, he bore the brunt of it.

"I do not remember how I got out of the ruins. Duncan found me, close to death, and carried me back to my tribe. The Keeper healed me, though it took her two days, and she could not be rid of my illness completely. Duncan told us that the mirror was of Tevinter origin, and had once been used as a communication device. In the long years since the fall of Tevinter, the mirrors have slumbered. Some of them were taken over by the Darkspawn, infected by their taint. It was this taint that swept over us, almost killing me. Duncan was surprised that I lived.

"I returned to the ruins with several warriors, to search for Tamlen. We could not find him. Duncan believes he died, and his body was carried below ground by the Darkspawn. I hope he is dead, but I fear he is not. I fear he lives on, hating me for abandoning him, for not finding him in time. Meanwhile, the taint from the mirror slowly consumes me. I have come here with Duncan so that I can become a Grey Warden. I am told it is the only cure. Had I not come willingly, my clan would have forced me out as my condition worsened."

"Wow, that's... just wow."

"You did not tell Duncan about our encounter in the woods," she said, a statement more than a question.

"No. Just mentioning the Dalish around the other recruits put them on edge, and when we returned to camp, things got pretty hectic with the ritual. What about you? Were your people happy with the hearts you brought them? Did they stop calling you Da'len?"

"Most did. Most call me 'lethallan', now. But some had called me da'len for so long that it was too hard to change their ways. We must take our victories where we can."

"Lethallan...?"

"'My friend', or 'good friend'. You ask far more questions than Duncan does."

"Well, Duncan's been around longer than I have. He already knows a lot more than I do."

"Really? He does not seem that old. His hair is not even white."

"How old are you, Kai?"

"I do not know. My people do not number our years, as you shemlen do. Once, we were immortal, and the years meant nothing to us. Then the shems took our language, our history, and our immortality. We Dalish seek to return to the old ways; we believe that numbering the years of our lives serves no other purpose than to remind us how long we have left to live. If we do not know how old we are, then we do not know how long we have left, and we are one step closer to reaching immortality. In the eyes of my people, I am young enough to be considered little more than a child."

"That makes sense, I suppose. But don't you celebrate birthdays?"

"Every day we live is a celebration of life. Why confine joy and happiness at being alive to a single day, when you can be struck down at any moment? We Elvhanen live for the now; we learn from the past and hope for the future, but here, now, I am alive. If I am still alive tomorrow, I will be glad for it."

"Fair enough."

"Thank you for the meal. It was better that the rations Duncan provided. May we begin the ritual now?"

"Yes, I suppose we better track down Daveth and Jory. They're the other recruits who will be going through the ritual with you. I'll be there as well, but in a more passive role. I have a good idea where we might find the other two, if you're ready to go?"

"Of course."

After returning their plates to the kitchen camp, Alistair led her past a group of tents, and to the other side of the encampment. The smell of hot metal tinged the air, and she realised they were approaching the smithing area. The sound of hammers ringing against anvils had an almost musical quality to it.

"You there, elf." Kai turned and looked at the bald human addressing her. "Where is my armour? And why are you dressed so strangely?"

"I do believe this man has mistaken me for a servant, Alistair," she said, raising an eyebrow. It had taken her weeks of practice to master raising just one of them. "Should I cut out his tongue, lest it offend me again, or shall I simply sacrifice his youngest child to the bloodthirsty Elvhenan gods?"

"She's joking," Alistair said, patting the man's arm in reassurance. "It's Dalish humour."

"You... you're the new Grey Warden recruit?" the man asked her, visibly shaken. "Oh, I do apologise, I didn't mean to suggest you were a servant."

"Indeed? And you are?"

"Just the quartermaster, Grey Warden. Nobody important. If er... you need any armour or weapons repairing or replacing, just let me know. Nothing is too much trouble for you Wardens."

"I will keep that in mind. Just out of curiosity, quartermaster, do you actually have any children?"

"Oh, look over there, it's Daveth," said Alistair, in the worst attempt to distract her that she had ever seen. "Please excuse us, quartermaster."

"Good day to you both."

Alistair steered her away from the man by her arm, and she graciously decided not to cut his hand off for touching her without her permission. He led her towards another man who was talking to a shem woman... a warrior, from the look of her. Interesting. She hadn't known that many shem women became warriors. From what she knew, it was more common of the males to fight.

"Daveth," said Alistair, as the woman warrior left, "this is Kai, the new recruit."

"Well," said Daveth, running his eyes over her in a most inappropriate manner, "you're not what I was expecting."

"I care not for your expectations," she informed him coolly.

"Gotcha. So... has Duncan or ser templar here told you anything about this ritual?"

"I heard that we recruits are to fight to the death."

"Is that so? Perhaps I'll go and wait for you at Duncan's tent." He scurried off with more than one backwards glance.

"You made that up," Alistair accused.

"No, I heard some of the soldiers speculating about what rite of initiation Grey Wardens must go through. That was simply one of their suggestions."

"Right. And I suppose you Dalish really _do_ eat human hearts?"

"No. But it was sufficient to cow you, was it not?"

"I wasn't really afraid, you know," he said, leading her on through the camp. "And you didn't have to threaten me, I don't attack people who have saved my life."

"Your life has been saved often, then?"

"I try not to make a habit of it."

They entered a quieter part of the camp, one that she had passed but avoided during her search for Alistair. It was where the sick and injured were housed as the priests and healers tended them. Not far away, a priest was saying a prayer, and several warriors were stood before her with their heads bowed. Alistair tapped one of them on his armour and gestured for him to follow.

"Ser Jory, this is Kai. She's the recruit we've been waiting for."

"But you are..." Jory began in surprise when he saw her.

"A woman? An elf? Dalish?" she finished for him.

"I was not aware they allowed women into the Grey Wardens," he said lamely, obviously going for the least offensive of her suggestions.

"Then perhaps I will start a trend."

"Perhaps. Regardless, I am pleased to meet you. I am Ser Jory, and I hail from Redcliffe where I was a knight under Arl Eamon's command."

"I am Kai, and I hail from the Dales where my people have wandered ever since we escaped the brutal slavery of our shemlen oppressors. Pleased to meet you."

"Err... yes. Now that you are here, I suppose Duncan wants to begin the ritual? I don't know what it involves, but the Grey Wardens would not allow us to begin without yourself and Duncan present."

"I heard that we are each expected to sacrifice a young virgin woman to the Maker, to prove ourselves dedicated to the Grey Warden cause." Ser Jory paled at her words.

"Ser Jory," said Alistair, "Daveth is back at Duncan's tent... why don't you wait for us there? We will rejoin you shortly." The young knight didn't need telling twice. He hurried away, an expression of worry on his face.

"He seems a dull, unimaginative fellow," she said as Jory retreated out of sight.

"Is there any point to you scaring the other recruits?"

"I am merely engaging in playful banter. Is such camaraderie not welcome in the Grey Wardens?" she asked innocently. "Or perhaps I should change who I am, to fit in. Should I become like a shem woman, meek and afraid to speak my mind, unable to think of myself equal to men?"

"The Grey Wardens are going to be on their toes with you around," Alistair said wryly. "Shall we join the others?"

"Yes. I think the time for secrecy has passed. I wish to hear what Duncan has to say."

o - o - o - o - o

"First of all," said Duncan, standing with Alistair before the group of recruits, "let me reassure you that there will be no fighting to the death with each other, nor will there be any sacrificing of virgins." Kai smiled at Daveth and Jory. "Your task is to go into the Korcari Wilds and retrieve three vials of Darkspawn blood, one for each recruit. This is essential for your ritual. In addition, I want you to seek out the ruins of an old Grey Warden outpost, and look for documents which may still be there. They were kept warded by magic, to prevent theft. Alistair will take you to the ruins, and you will help him in his search."

"What are these documents which you cherish enough to guard with magic?" asked Kai.

"They are old treaties, promises of aid from various people made to the Grey Wardens a long time ago. As many seem to have forgotten their promises, these treaties will serve well to remind them."

"We'll be heading out immediately," said Alistair. "So if there's anything you need, you better see the quartermaster about it now." Daveth excused himself, claiming he needed to procure more arrows. Alistair took Kai and Ser Jory to the far gate, to wait for the other man to return. It didn't take him long, and as the afternoon sun began to sink below the horizon, Alistair ordered the gate open, and led them into the Wilds.


	5. The Korcari Wilds

Origins

_5. The Korcari Wilds_

Kai looked up at the corpses of soldiers swinging from the fallen tree trunk which bridged a small canyon a dozen feet above the ground. They obviously hadn't been there very long; their faces were purple and bloated, oxygen starvation caused by the ropes tied into nooses around their necks. A few flies had begun to gather, but there were no carrion birds yet.

"Now that's just excessive," said Alistair, shaking his head sadly.

"I think I'm going to be sick," said Jory, his face pale.

"Why do they do that?" asked Daveth, eyeing the corpses and the surrounding fauna with equal suspicion. "I thought Darkspawn dragged their victims back down underground, to... y'know... feed on them."

"It is a scare tactic," said Kai. "The sight of hanged men is a more effective deterrent than men who simply disappear. No doubt they expect to break the morale of anybody foolish enough to enter the Wilds. Like us."

"H... help!" The voice originated nearby, and Kai immediately drew her weapons, prepared for an ambush. She stuck close to Ser Jory and Alistair as they crept forward - though the shemlen idea of creeping was not the same as _her_ idea of creeping - and Daveth brought up the rear, ready to bring his bow into play.

After a minute of searching they came across a soldier, dragging himself through the reeds and looking in a bad state. He was moaning quietly, obviously in a great deal of pain.

"Who's there?" he asked, hearing their approach. He rolled onto his back and looked up at them, his face bloody and frightened. "Grey Wardens?"

"He's not half as dead as he looks, is he?" Alistair asked.

"Please... help me. I must get back to camp."

"Sadly for him, I have no potions from the Keeper this time," Kai said to Alistair.

"I have some bandages and such in my pack," he replied, bending down and rooting through his backpack. He handed her a roll of thick material, and she unrolled it, using it to press down on one of the man's open wounds, stemming the flow of blood.

"Give us one of those, I'll see to his leg," said Daveth, crouching down beside the man. She gave him one of the strips of material, and he set to work.

"What happened to you, soldier?" Alistair asked as he began bandaging the man's head.

"I was part of a scouting group... we were attacked by Darkspawn and the rest of my group was killed. They... they dragged them back underground, some of them still screaming," said the warrior with a shudder.

"Well, fear not. We've stemmed the bleeding, you should be able to make it to camp. The way behind us is clear."

"Oh, thank you! The Maker bless you and watch over you!" said the soldier, as the Grey Warden helped him to stand. He hobbled off, in pain but likely to survive.

"Did you hear that?" said Jory. "An entire group of seasoned soldiers slaughtered by Darkspawn. We should turn back... how many can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred?"

"Do all shemlen scare so easily?" Kai asked, washing the blood from her hands in a puddle of rank swamp water. "No doubt we are supposed to overcome fear and adversity. It is as much a part of this test as the Darkspawn blood itself."

"There are Darkspawn about, yes," said Alistair. "But we are in no danger of running into the bulk of the horde. We will proceed carefully."

"I'm sure those soldiers were careful, and look at where it got them!" said Jory

"Know that all Grey Wardens can sense Darkspawn. I guarantee, they won't take use by surprise."

"See, ser knight?" said Daveth happily. "You might die, but at least you'll be warned about it first."

"Very... reassuring."

"We'll press on, for now. We're bound to run into Darkspawn before we reach the ruins of the Warden outpost," said Alistair, taking the lead.

Jory fell into line behind him, followed by Kai, with Daveth bringing up the rear. As she walked, she tried to get a sense of the land around her. Though the Korcari Wilds were said to be a forest, it wasn't much like the forrested Dale lands that were her home. This place was as much wetland as it was forest; bulrushes and reeds were common, indicating damp areas of ground which she avoided. Large dragonflies zipped across the path, travelling from one body of murky water to another. A slight smell of rotting eggs permeated the air, and she knew that this was common of swamps and mires.

Though there were trees, they were not the type that she was familiar with. Her clan camped amongst primary forests of ash, beech, yew, apple and sycamore, with occasional oaks standing proud and alone. She was knowledgeable about herbs and meadow grasses; elfroot, coltsfoot, thyme, parsley, sage, and the flowers that could be found growing in the Dales; buttercups, daffodils, bluebells, daisies, cowslips and foxgloves. This Korcari forest had none of them. Less diverse than those she was used to, and also less welcoming, being within the Wilds made her feel on edge.

They travelled for half an hour, then Alistair stopped them for a brief rest and a drink of water. Kai chose a dry spot on a half-submerged log, and sat down to take her bottle of water from her pack.

"What did you do before this?" Daveth asked her.

"'Do'?"

"Yeah, I mean, with your people. It's obvious you've seen fighting before, and you didn't even flinch at the hanging men and the soldier full of blood. Unlike ser knight here, who looked like he was going to lose his breakfast."

"I am a warrior, a protector of my tribe. Your kind sometimes calls us 'rangers'; we are part of the land, know it as intimately as we know ourselves. We can commune with the birds and the beasts; they do not fear us. We fight against anything that threatens our people, be it beasts, Darkspawn or shem. Why? What did you 'do' before this?"

"Spent a lot of time in Denerim's gaol, for one. Mostly made my living cutting purses and picking pockets. Hardly the glamorous life of a knight, but it was enough for me."

"Duncan was merciful in conscripting you," said Jory. "The punishment for consistent thieving is death, and some might say that you cheated the system."

"There are no thieves, amongst the Dalish," said Kai.

"Really?" asked Daveth.

"We have learnt to share. Members of a clan are like family; what one of us possesses, we all do."

"And what happens if a member of your tribe harms or murders another?" asked Jory.

"The punishment for killing a tribe member is death. Our justice is swift. Thievery is not a true crime; it is a symptom of inequality in a society."

"Perhaps you should tell that to the victims of thievery," said Jory.

"Perhaps I will. But you must admit, if all of your people were equal, if all had the same number of possessions, then there would be no need for thieving. Why covet something that is owned by your neighbour, if it is the same as what you already have? And out of all the thieves that exist, how many became that way out of necessity? How many started off as starving, hungry children, stealing a loaf of bread to merely survive? If you tell a man he cannot have something, of course he will want it. If you give a man what he wants, he has no need to take it himself."

"But he also has nothing to strive for," Daveth grinned suggestively, and she suspected he wasn't thinking about theft.

Without warning, Alistair stood and drew his weapon, his gaze focused at a point deeper in the swamp. In his left hand he hefted his shield, settling it comfortably on his arm.

"Looks like our Darkspawn detector just went off," said Daveth, fastening his pack and drawing an arrow onto his bow. Jory also took out his weapon, a long two-handed sword that needed power and strength to swing it. Kai preferred her own type of blades; they were both light and sharp, requiring a slicing motion to inflict pain, rather than chopping or swinging. She could wield her weapons deftly, with finesse that Jory and his heavier weapon would never be able to manage. Alistair, she knew from previous experience, was a capable warrior, and Daveth seemed to be handling his bow with skill. All in all, not a bad group of people to be facing Darkspawn with. For humans, of course.

A group of Genlock, led by a Hurlock, appeared further along the path. Daveth immediately loosed his first arrow, and had another in place before anybody else had even reacted. As Alistair and Jory leapt forward to meet the Darkspawn head-on, Kai selected her target and took up a flanking position as it slashed at Jory's head. She struck three times in rapid succession; once at neck height, once at chest height, and one as close to the stomach as she could get, alternating each strike between her Dar'Misaan and Dar'Misu. Every decent Dalish warrior knew the three-strike technique. The first blow was supposed to be the killing blow, but it didn't hurt to have two more as backup, just in case the previous blow missed.

One by one the Darkspawn fell, the last keeling over with one of Daveth's arrows protruding from its chest. For a moment the only sound to be heard was the panting of her companions as they caught their breath. Then the birds began to sing again, and Kai relaxed.

"Maker's mercy!" said Ser Jory, examining one of the corpses without getting too close. "They are truly horrifying. What... what are you doing?" The question was aimed at Kai as she stood straddling the Hurlock corpse. She lifted its head by its scraggly hair, and cut its throat with her Dar'Misu.

"Did you think we would simply walk up to the Darkspawn and ask them to kindly let us borrow a few vials of their blood?" she asked, reaching inside her pocket with her free hand. Her fingers closed around the glass vial and she brought it out, using her teeth to remove the cork in the top. Then she placed it beneath the monster's neck, where blood was pouring out. The vial was filled within seconds, and she withdrew it, pouring a little on the ground to make room for the cork again. "Do you want me to get yours? I can hold your hand if it will make you feel better."

"Y'know, you look sorta scary, stood there holding an almost-severed Darkspawn head in one hand, drenched from head to toe in blood," said Daveth.

"Thank you." She tossed him the blood, which he almost fumbled and dropped. "Your vial?"

She filled the second vial and gave it to ser Jory, and kept his own vial for herself. Then she looked around for the cleanest water she could find, to wash the sticky, tar-like blood from her hands. Unfortunately, none of the swamp water was particularly clean; it tended to smear the blood around, rather than washing it off.

"I suppose all that's left to do now is to find the ruined outpost and retrieve Duncan's documents," said Jory in relief. "I must admit, this wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I mean, we're all still alive. I'd been worried that the Darkspawn were undefeatable... now I see they can be slain, just like anything else."

"That's the spirit," said Alistair, speaking for the first time since the attack. "Now, just stick close to me. I know the way to the outpost, but I doubt we're done with the Darkspawn just yet."

o - o - o - o - o

"Why are you staring at me?" Kai asked Daveth. In the past hour, he had barely taken his eyes off her. At first she was content to ignore him; no doubt he stared because he had never seen a Dalish before, just like she had stared at many things in the camp. But after a while it began to irritate her. Plus, it was rude. Most shemlen seemed to have no care for manners.

"I was just wondering if all Dalish women were as beautiful as you," he said, and his answer surprised her. From the front of the group, Alistair snorted in amusement.

"Beauty is entirely subjective," she said coolly.

"Right, right. Well... what do your tattoos mean?"

"They are an expression of who I am."

"Ah, that's what's been niggling at my mind," said Alistair. "You have more tattoos than when I last saw you. Have you killed many humans since then?"

"You've met before?" Daveth asked in surprise.

"You've killed humans?" Ser Jory asked at the same time.

"Yes," she said to Daveth, "and no," she aimed at Jory. "Though not through lack of opportunity, I can assure you."

"How many humans have you actually met, then? Before Ostagar, I mean," Daveth grinned.

"Five. Duncan was the fifth, and he brought me here."

"Is it difficult, being away from your people, and around so many humans?" Jory asked.

"Yes. Your ways are... strange," she admitted, her brows creased in concentration as she tried to put her feelings into words. "Everything is so... incomplete."

"Incomplete?" asked Daveth.

"It is difficult to explain. I do not just belong to myself, I belong also to the Dalish. They are a part of me, and I am a part of them. When we are together, we are a single unit; every individual has his or her place, we make up a whole comprised of many. You humans... most don't seem to know where they belong. They move, think, speak, act, as individuals, unable to know if the person stood next to them is experiencing the same thing that they are. You disagree about everything, there is no unity, no cohesion. You fight amongst yourselves, even in the camp. The ones you call templars watch the mages with suspicion. The Chantry keep a tight reign on the templars. The Grey Wardens are more welcome in some groups than others. The priests would have you believe that they are accepting of all, yet they scorn you if you do not believe in your Maker. I suppose that there is nothing to truly unite your people, apart from the Darkspawn. And that is why the only time your people are united, is when there is a Blight."

"Has Duncan been telling you about the Grey Wardens, then?" Alistair asked.

"A little. But tales of the Grey Wardens are told even amongst my people. It is said that during the last Blight, there were many Dalish amongst the Wardens, but there have been none in the almost four hundred years since then. I am not just here to save my own life, but to represent my people once more. I am quite saddened by the lack of Griffons, by the way. I intend to submit a formal complaint to your leaders once this Blight is over. Is it hard to be away from your people, Jory?"

"I... er... why, yes, it is," he said, obviously surprised by her question. She didn't know why; it was only the same question he had asked of her, and if they were to become Grey Wardens together, should they not get to know each other better? "I've only been married for a year, and my wife will be expecting our first child any day now. I... I wish I could be there for the birth. It pains me to think of what I am missing."

"And you, Daveth?" she asked.

"I've not got much in the way of family. I was born and raised in a village on the edge of the Wilds, but left for Denerim as soon as I was old enough to walk more than ten paces without falling flat on my face."

"Quite recently, then?" said Alistair, and Kai found herself smiling at the joke.

"Har bloody har, Alistair. Didn't think you Chantry types had much of a sense of humour. Glad to see I'm wrong."

"You are affiliated with the Chantry?" Kai asked, realising just how little she knew about the man whose life she had saved six months ago.

"Not anymore. I was raised by Arl Eamon in Redcliffe until I was ten, then bundled off to the Chantry to begin training as a templar. It didn't really work out. The Grey Wardens are my family, now."

Kai fell to silence as they made their way deeper into the Wilds. She was slowly coming to realise that the humans were as different and individual as the Elvhenan. Duncan was firm and dedicated. Alistair was curious and jocular. Jory was quiet and sensible. Daveth was high-spirited and frank. Yes, their ways were different to the Dalish, but in some ways, they were also similar. It gave her much to think about, as they journeyed on towards the Grey Warden outpost.

o - o - o - o - o

"Look... there are ruins up ahead," said Jory, pointing along the trail.

"That's where we're bound," said Alistair. "Keep your weapons handy... I don't sense any Darkspawn nearby."

"Is that something to be concerned over?" she asked.

"Out here, anything that keeps the Darkspawn away is something to be concerned over."

She nodded, and crept forward following Alistair's lead. Ser Jory was by her side, and Daveth flanked them in a position that allowed him to use his bow to maximum effect. Slowly, Alistair lead them unerringly forward, and she wondered how he knew where he was going within the ruins themselves. Had Duncan given him a map, or was this warding on the documents something that he could also sense, like the Darkspawn themselves? Regardless of how he knew, she wasn't at all surprised when he led them right to a chest. But what _did_ surprise her was the fact that it was broken right open.

"We're too late," said Alistair, shaking his head at the ruined chest. Kai knelt down to examine the rotting fragments of wood. It seemed that time itself had been responsible for the destruction of the container, rather than a malicious intent at opening it.

"What have we here?" said a female voice from above and behind them. Kai stood and whirled, her hands drawing her blades instinctively. "Are these vultures? Scavengers, picking at the old bones of the Wilds? Or perhaps intruders, looking for easy prey. What say you? Be you scavengers, or intruders?"

"Neither," said Kai. "Grey Wardens once owned this tower... we are merely taking back what is rightfully ours."

"'Tis a tower no longer. I have watched your progress through these Wilds of mine, wondering 'Where do they go? Why are they here?' I suppose you have an answer for that?"

"Don't answer her," said Alistair. "She looks Chasind, and that means others will be nearby."

The woman stepped out from the shadows, and Kai got a proper look at her for the first time. She was tall but slender, with brown hair tied high on her head. Her clothes were... at best, she could only think of them as 'extremely outlandish', and though the woman carried a staff, there were no other weapons visible. She _did_ look somewhat foreign, with high cheekbones, a fine bone structure and hazel-gold eyes, but she had not taken up a threatening stance, so Kai was prepared to deal with her diplomatically, for the time being at least.

"Do you fear that barbarians will swoop down upon you?" the woman laughed.

"Yes, swooping is bad."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is!" said Daveth, taking a cautious step backwards. The woman gave him a cursory glanced, apparently dismissed him, and turned to Kai.

"You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Won't you tell me your name, and I will tell you mine?"

"I am Kai."

"Very well, you may call me Morrigan. Now, from your presence here, I assume that you have come for something... something that used to be in that chest, but is there no longer?"

"You stole them, didn't you? You... sneaky... Witch-thief!" Alistair managed. "Hand those documents over now; they are property of the Grey Wardens."

"I will do no such thing, for 'twas not I who took them. If you must know, it was my mother."

"Your mother?" said Daveth.

"Yes, my mother. Did you assume I'd spawned from a log?"

"A thieving, weird talking log, maybe," Alistair grumbled under his breath.

"If you would like to follow me, I can take you to her. Otherwise, your documents will remain absent."

"I don't think we should go anywhere with her," Daveth whispered. "She'll put us in her cooking pot!"

"If the pot is any warmer than this forest, it will be a welcome change," Jory complained.

"We _do_ really need those documents," said Alistair, running his thumb over his chin in thought.

"I will go with her," Kai spoke up. "I am not afraid. Anybody who does not want to go can wait here for me to return. Or not. But at least one of us will have tried."

"We should all go," said Jory. "I don't like the idea of somebody being separated out here."

"Then we're agreed? We all go?" Alistair asked. Everybody nodded, and Kai turned back to Morrigan.

"Very well... please take us to your mother."

o - o - o - o - o

Though the winding, half-submerged paths of the Wilds were incomprehensible to her, Morrigan seemed to know where she was going. Her companions followed behind, with some minimal complaint about cooking pots from Daveth. Not long after Morrigan started leading them, they found themselves looking at a sturdy wood and straw hut, nestled protectively between two small hills. Kai suspected, from their shape, that they were barrows, ancient burial grounds for fallen kings or warriors.

"Mother!" called Morrigan. "I've brought four Grey Wardens to see you."

"I can see that, girl. Do you think I don't have eyes?"

The woman who stepped into view from behind the hut was older than Kai had expected. Her grey hair was lanky and thin, and her clothes were often threadbare in places, patched together with random pieces of material probably scavenged from anywhere they could be found. Her eyes, though... sunken as they were in her sallow face, her eyes were dark and bright, shining with the light of intelligence.

"Aw, here comes cooking-pot time," groaned Daveth.

"If she really is a Witch of the Wilds, do you think it's wise to antagonise her?" asked Jory. The woman laughed, and stepped forward.

"Now there's a smart boy! Sadly irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, but it's not I who make those decisions." Her eyes ran over the others before resting on Kai. "You, however... you're different. I think I believe... yes, I think I do. Tell me, does your elven mind give you a different viewpoint, or do you believe as these boys do?"

"I do not believe you are going to stuff us into a cooking pot, if that's what you mean. For one, I don't think you would have a pot big enough."

"Ahh, perhaps I do, but perhaps I don't. That is a discussion for another time."

"_This_ is a Witch of the Wilds?" Alistair scoffed, apparently unimpressed. The old woman cackled.

"Witch of the Wilds? Oh my, I suppose Morrigan told you that, did she? She is ever so taken with such myths. Oh, how she dances beneath the moon!"

"They didn't come here to hear your tales, mother," said Morrigan, rolling her eyes. Kai had trouble imagining the young woman dancing in _any_ situation. "They came for their documents."

"Ah yes, the treaties. I have them here. And before you start barking, the magical seal on them wore off. I took them for safe-keeping, and have guarded them for many years."

"You... oh, you guarded them?" asked Alistair, apparently deciding not to finish his sentence.

"Yes. They are important, are they not? You may have them back, for you will be in need of them."

"Thank you, wise one." said Kai, and the old woman smiled.

"Wise one, is it? Now what makes you say that, I wonder."

"Your hair is grey. Amongst the Elvhenan, only the wise ones have grey hair."

"Well, it is nice to see somebody with manners out here in the Wilds. Just you wait here, and I'll get your treaties for you. The night is young, and I'm sure you have much yet to do."


	6. The Tower of Ishal

Origins

_6. The Tower of Ishal_

Lying on the ground in front of Duncan's campfire, Kai held the locket that Alistair had given her above her head, using a finger to spin it around and around. Dark, with a tinge of red when held up to the light, he had explained that it was to remember those who had not made it this far. Those like Daveth, and Jory. She closed her eyes, remembering their last moments of life.

_"Join us, brothers and sisters," Alistair said without emotion. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we uphold the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we will join you."_

_ Kai felt her pulse begin to race as Daveth was called forward by Duncan. All she wanted was to flee this madness, but instead she found herself watching Daveth in morbid fascination. Time seemed to slow as he raised the chalice to his lips and took a mouthful of Darkspawn blood. He swallowed, and for a few seconds, nothing happened. Then he clutched at his head as his body began to convulse. He brought his hands to his throat, choking, and began tearing at his skin with his nails. Then his eyes rolled backwards into his head and he collapsed, dead before he hit the floor._

_ "I am sorry, Daveth," said Duncan. Terror spiked through Kai's body, adrenaline washing away her tiredness. "Step forward, Jory."_

_ "No... no, I cannot do this, you cannot ask me to sacrifice my life! I have a wife and daughter... I won't let you do this." The knight backed up to the wall and drew his sword as Duncan advanced forward with the chalice. When Jory made no move to take the cup, Duncan placed it on a stone altar and drew his own sword._

_ Kai stepped forward, prepared to try to convince Jory to take the blood, but Alistair barred her way with his arm and shook his head. She could only watch in fear as Jory took a swipe at Duncan with his sword. The experienced Grey Warder blocked it easily, carrying the motion through so that his sword penetrated the full length of Jory's chest at a vulnerable place in his plate armour. Kai closed her eyes and looked away as Jory coughed up foamy blood and collapsed onto the floor._

_ "I am sorry, Jory," she heard Duncan say. "Step forward, Kai."_

That had been the last thing she had remembered, before she was plunged into darkness. When she had woken, she found herself outside Duncan's tent, with Duncan himself gone and Alistair left to watch over her. Shortly after giving her the necklace, filled with Lyrium-infused Darkspawn blood from the ritual, he had disappeared to find her some food.

Everybody knew that the flesh and blood of the Darkspawn was poison, that eating or drinking it meant death. What did the Grey Wardens do to it, then, to make it less deadly for some? Duncan had spoken of 'mastering the taint'. Did it depend, then, on the strength and determination of the individual? If so, why had Daveth died? He was not afraid, and he was quite determined to die to protect Ferelden against the Darkspawn.

"Here, I found you what's left of the broth. I hope it's alright," said Alistair, returning to the fire with a dish of hot soup.

"Thank you," she said, accepting the bowl. She blew across the top for a moment to cool it, then took a sip. Food had never tasted so good, and it washed the foul taste of Darkspawn blood from her mouth. "You could have warned me," she said at last.

"No, I couldn't. Not that I didn't want to, but this is the way it has to be."

"I would not have refused. I knew that I was dying, from the taint that the mirror inflicted on me. Perhaps that is why I survived, when the others did not. Perhaps I was already halfway there."

"Only one died during my ritual, but it was... horrible," said Alistair sadly.

"When I drank the blood, I saw something. It looked like a dragon."

"The Arch Demon."

"It saw me," she said, closing her eyes and shivering, despite the warmth of the fire. "I think it was the same thing that had control of the mirror. Tamlen said that something saw him, before the wave of dark energy hit us. I can't imagine something like a Genlock or a Hurlock scaring him that much. He was terrified."

"We've all seen it, in our dreams. We just don't know where it is, or whether it's behind this particular invasion of Darkspawn. It might even be slumbering itself, dreaming of us, as we dream of it."

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"If you're feeling ready to walk again, Duncan wants us down at the meeting. He's discussing tactics with King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain. I think some of the mages are there too. That will be a rare treat for us, I'm sure."

"Yes, I think I can walk. Why does Duncan want me to attend the meeting, though? I am hardly a strategist."

"I don't know. Maybe because we're what's left of the Grey Wardens up here. The rest are down in the King's camp, with the rest of his forces." He stood and held out his hand, which she took to pull herself to her feet. She took a few experimental steps, and when she decided she was in no danger of falling over or collapsing and making a fool out of herself, she nodded for him to lead the way.

The camp was dark, and emptier than it had been earlier in the day. The smithing area had fallen silent, and the healers were settling down for the night with their few remaining patients. The kennel area, where the King's Mabari war hounds were kept, was likewise quiet, with only a few canine whimpers to be heard. The mages who weren't at the King's meeting were abed, grabbing a few precious hours of sleep before the coming battle. The templars were settled down for the night beside their own fire, like shepherds watching over their magical flock.

"The King seems quite fond of the Grey Wardens," she remarked quietly to Alistair as they passed the tents and ventured into the old ruins.

"Oh? What makes you say that?"

"When he came out to meet Duncan, as we arrived, he treated him as a close friend. Duncan said that King Cailan had given the Grey Wardens an honoured position beside him, despite their low numbers. And he has asked not only Duncan, but also you and I to attend this meeting. Or are my conclusions inaccurate?"

"No, no, you're quite right. Cailan is a good man, but he seeks glory, like Kings of old. He wants this Blight to become a legend that tells of him riding to battle and victory with the fearless Grey Wardens by his side. If you ask me, Teyrn Loghain is the one we should be looking to to win this battle for us. He's the one who thinks of strategies and numbers. He's the one who freed us from Orlais, and he'll be the one to win this battle. At least, that's my opinion anyway, for all it's worth."

They ascended a flight of wide marble steps, and for a moment, the act of climbing them made her go dizzy. But the moment passed, and she turned her attention back to her surroundings. At the far end of a long, ruined room, stood a group of people around a table top. They were all looking at the table, pointing at it, and seemed in deep discussion. Slowly, their words began to reach Kai's ears.

"...important to see that the task is done. Send Alistair and the new recruit." That was King Cailan's voice.

"You put too much faith in these Grey Wardens, your Highness." It was a new voice, one she had not heard before. "We do not need to wait for their legions from Orlais to end this Blight. Or have you forgotten that only a short time ago, we fought for our independence against them?"

"I have not forgotten, but that is in the past, and you _will_ remember who is King."

"It is fortunate that Maric did not live to see his son hand over control of Ferelden to Orlesians."

"Majesty, you do not require the Grey Wardens for this," said a tall magi. "The Circle is prepared to use its magic to light the..."

"We will not trust a task this important to your magic," said a white-haired woman dressed in the robes of the magi.

"Then it is settled," said the King again. "Alistair and the new recruit will light the signal, the Grey Wardens and I will draw the enemy forces into the pass where we will have them in a bottle neck. Then Loghain's forces will flank them, forming the hammer against our anvil. Duncan, will you see that everything is in place?"

"Of course, your Majesty."

"I don't know about you, but my ears are feeling a little hot," Alistair whispered to her. She nodded, more focused on the people before her than his words. It seemed the meeting was over; the mages left down the far stairs, while the King and the man she had not yet met, Loghain, she assumed, turned and began walking towards she and Alistair. The young Grey Warden offered them a small bow as they approach, which she echoed.

"Ah, Alistair, Kai," said the King. "I hear congratulations are in order. Becoming a Grey Warden is a great honour... you must be proud."

"Yes, your Majesty. Thank you."

"It is unfortunate you missed the meeting, but Duncan will tell you everything you need to know. I'm sure both you and Alistair will do the Grey Wardens proud."

Both men continued on their way, and Kai watched them leave. Though they were of a similar height, they were almost complete opposites. The King was resplendent in his golden armour, his long blond hair blowing loose in the breeze as he walked. His features were fine and chiselled, and he walked with a confident air that drew all eyes towards him. Loghain, on the other hand, was plain by comparison. His armour was standard plate, his facial features strong, but not exactly attractive even for a shem. Still, he was supposed to possess unsurpassed tactical skills... he _had_ freed his people from Orlesian rule, after all.

"Kai," said Duncan, "I'm glad that you are awake. I feared you might sleep through tomorrow's battle. How do you feel? In all senses of the word," he added, before she could chastise him again for being vague.

"A little tired, but well. I no longer feel the sickness from the mirror. I will survive, at least until the battle."

"Good. As you may have heard, King Cailan and Loghain have finally agreed on the plan." He led them towards the table top, and she saw now that it contained a map of the land in and around Ostagar. "The Darkspawn will come from here, towards Ostagar. The King's army and the Grey Wardens will bait them on, and engage them just outside the ruins. Once the battle is truly underway, we will send a signal, and the beacon atop Ishal Tower will be lit. This will signal Teyrn Loghain's men to advance, and we will capture the Darkspawn between us, in what has been known over the centuries as the vice, the hammer and anvil, or the pincer attack. You two will be the ones to light the beacon."

"What? We aren't to fight with you in battle?" asked Alistair.

"Not this time. The King has asked personally that the two of you be the ones to light it. We must all play our part, and the battle depends upon the beacon being lit at exactly the right time."

"I can light the beacon on my own," said Kai. "It is not a two man job. If Alistair can be more help on the battlefield, then you should use him there."

"It is not my call to make. You both heard the King's request."

"Very well," said Alistair in defeat. "But I won't promise I'll stay up there, once the beacon's lit. Once the fire's going I'm coming straight back down."

"If the Maker wishes it to be so, then it will be so," said Duncan. "There will be plenty of opportunity for battle, believe me. Now, we must move quickly. The horde is approaching faster than our scouts had anticipated. We have only an hour or two before they arrive. I am going straight down to the camp, to prepare the Grey Wardens... the two of you should head back to my tent and pack anything you think you may need for your task. Once the battle has begun, you will not have much time."

"Duncan... may the Maker watch over you," said Alistair.

"May he watch over us all."

o - o - o - o - o

"How long have you known Duncan?" Kai asked as she shoved pouches of herbs and rations into her backpack.

"A little over six months."

"Wha is his position in the Grey Wardens? If you... we... even have ranks, I mean."

"Duncan leads the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. He has done for many a year now."

"Does he not trust me to light the beacon alone? Is that why he is sending you with me?"

"More likely he wants to keep us_ both _out of the fighting. But if my duty means fighting, I'll fight. If it means lighting the beacon with you, I'll light it with you. At least we'll have a good view from the tower."

She said nothing else as she finished packing the bag. She did not really believe Alistair's explanation... or at least, she believed that _he_ believed it, but not that all was as it truly seemed. Things had been much the same back with her clan, after she had returned from the Southron Hills with the Darkspawn hearts. Though most of her people had come to recognise her as a warrior, the elders still seemed to think that she was a child, who needed prodding and guiding onto the right path, and needed to be sheltered from harm, constantly monitored in case something happened to her.

"If you're ready, we should head towards the Tower of Ishal. We need to be up there in time to see the signal," he said. She nodded, and pulled her pack onto her back.

Outside Duncan't tent the camp was empty, and for a moment she wondered why. Then she remembered that everybody was already on the battlefield. The soldiers were with their King, the Circle of Magi was beneath the shadow of the ruins, ready to rain down fire upon their enemies. The priests would be standing by, ready to tend the wounded, and the servants would have been sent to a safer place, to wait for their masters to return. Or not, as the case may be.

"It is like a deserted ghost-camp," she said, feeling a chill run up her spine.

"I know, it's eerie when it's empty. I'm so used to seeing the camp full of life. But it would probably be best if you didn't think about it, lest your imagination run away with you."

Alistair led her towards the bridge where she had first entered Ostagar. On the far side was the Tower of Ishal, standing silent and ominous, the highest point of the landscape. Looking down from the bridge she noticed thousands of lights below; torch lights, she realised, from which flaming arrows could be quickly lit.

A distant war-horn pierced the silence, tearing through the night air and making her blood go cold. So powerful was the effect that she gasped, inhaling deeply for a moment as she waited for the chill to pass.

"You felt that, then?" Alistair asked. "It's the Darkspawn... it's how we feel them. It's like... you can feel them almost tugging at your soul, drawing you towards them. If the feeling starts getting a little too much for you, just stay close to me. I'll help you."

She wanted to say that she didn't need any help, but she didn't know how true that was. Instead she thought of other things... how bright the stars seemed up here compared to beneath the forests of her home. How cold her leather armour felt against her skin. How soothing was the weight of the Dar'Misaan at her hip. How the late night moon-cast shadows danced across Alistair's face, making him, look, momentarily, like somebody else, somebody she could not put her finger on.

There was a deep thudding noise, and the ground shook beneath her. From the valley below came faint shouts and screams, and then the thudding sound repeated, followed by a tremor of the earth. The ground shook beneath her, and she struggled to remain on her feet.

"Damn!" Alistair swore. "They have siege! We have to get across this bridge before the tear it down completely."

He set out at a run and she followed him, keeping up with him as best she could. She sent a silent prayer to the Elvhenan Gods that the next rock hurled at the bridge would miss. If the Gods were listening, they left little room for interpretation of prayers sent to them. As soon as she reached the other side of the bridge, a large rock was thrown, taking out an entire section. The shock threw her off her feet, and she was sent flying into a stand of bushes.

"Kai, are you hurt?" asked Alistair, holding out his hand. She grasped it, and pulled herself out of the vegetation.

"No... these conveniently placed shrubs broke my fall. How is the bridge looking?"

"Dire. We'll never be able to get back across it. I suppose this means we're committed, now."

"Help!" cried a panic voice before she could reply. They hurried towards the source of the calls and discovered a mage and a guard being harassed by Darkspawn. Alistair immediately leapt into action, slaying one of the beasts at it prepared to strike at the magi. Kai chose a different target; a tall, evil-eyed Hurlock. But this one seemed more competent and aggressive than his fellows had been, and he blocked her attack before striking again. As she parried, a second sword came down from behind it, severing the beast's head at its carotid artery. A flume of blood sprayed over her, and she closed her eyes against the sticky liquid.

"Sorry," said Alistair, kicking the corpse away as it fell. "Didn't realise it would do that."

"Thank the Maker you're here, Grey Wardens!" said the mage. "The Tower has fallen, it is overrun by Darkspawn. They came from below, but we know not why or how."

"Are there any others left alive?"

"There... there may be some, in the tower. Most of us tried to flee, but were struck down."

"Are you injured?" Kai asked.

"No... no, I think I'm unhurt. Just a little panicked. We weren't expecting them."

"It is imperative that we take this tower back," said Alistair. "The King is counting on us. Can we depend on you to watch our backs and help us to make our way to the beacon."

"Of course. I mean, you saved our lives."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now, I suggest you take a few minutes to breathe, and then gather your wits together. We have a tower to reclaim, and not much time."

o - o - o - o - o

Kai had once thought that nightmares could only happen when you were asleep. Now she was beginning to realise that they were quite real. And Ishal Tower was one of the worst nightmares she had ever experienced. Darkspawn where everywhere, and it seemed they had only finished dispatching one group before they ran into another. She took strength from Alistair's calmness and surety, but after a while she could tell that even he was beginning to worry about the frequency in which they ran into the dark minions.

"Something is wrong, there aren't supposed to be any Darkspawn here," he said after a particularly difficult fight somewhere around the third floor.

"Maybe you should try telling them that," she said, panting with exertion and covered in sticky black blood.

"I'll pass. But still... we've probably run into more Darkspawn up here than we ever would have on the battlefield. If Duncan thought sending us here would keep us safe, he'll be sadly mistaken."

"I thought he sent us here because the King requested it?"

"Now you're just splitting hairs."

As they ascended the tower, Kai began to feel more and more tired. Adrenaline could only keep her alert for so long, and she had not had enough time to recover from the physical and emotional stress of undergoing the joining ritual before being flung into combat. In addition, she was hungry and beginning to feel the effects of dehydration as her body pumped its chemicals into her blood stream to allow her to keep going.

"My Lady, this is the door to the top level of the tower," said the mage. He too was drenched in blood, his formerly blue robes now a deep crimson-purple.

"Maybe we'll get lucky," said Alistair, "and instead of a room full of Darkspawn, we'll find a basket full of puppies."

"Because puppies are quite often found on battlefields," said Kai.

"You'd be surprised."

Before they continued she took a canteen from her pack and gulped down some of the water. It was warm, but it still refreshed her. She passed the canteen around, and when everybody had taken some carefully put the stopper back in and stored it away in her pack. There was no telling when they might get chance for another drink.

Together they ascended the stairs, and trudged wearily along the topmost floor of the tower. The mage seemed to know where he was going, and he led them towards a door, gesturing that there might be Darkspawn inside. Fighting down a weary sigh, Kai drew her swords, and prepared for more carnage.

What they found in the room was no simple Darkspawn, like the sort they had encountered before. The hulking brute was at least twice as tall as Alistair, if not more, and at first it did not see them; she felt a little faint when she realised it was eating a Human corpse. As they crept into the room its ears pricked, and it turned to glare at them, its mouth red with blood, strings of entrails hanging from its protruding lower canines.

Before any of them could react, the giant picked up a large chunk of rock that had fallen from the ceiling and hurled it at their group. Kai jumped to one side, her blades slipping from her hands, and Alistair jumped to another. The guard made a huge leap out of the path of the projectile, but the mage was not so lucky. A sickening _crack_ and a gurgled scream of pain told her that the man hadn't been fast enough, and when she looked back she saw only a large, bloody smear against the wall, and a pile of bloody rages beneath the rock on the floor.

As she recovered, she saw Alistair rush forward from the corner of her eye. _Stupid man!_ Why didn't he wait for her to stand and regain her weapons? Why did he not call out some plan to defeat the giant? Didn't he realise that rushing headlong into something wouldn't automatically ensure victory?

"Don't just stand there!" she shouted at the guard, pointing at the giant. The man rushed toward the Darkspawn, his battle-axe held high. The huge beast seemed torn, but eventually decided that the guard provided a more interesting target; it brought its arms above its head, and then down towards the ground, ready to smash him into a pulp. At the last moment the guard noticed the giant's pose, and side-stepped so that he was merely flung several feet to one side instead of being crushed to death.

The giant's attack left an opening for Alistair; he hacked at the creature's side with his sword. But the Darkspawn proved to have faster reflexes, and it merely raised one arm, catching the Warden's blows on its thick hide bracer. As the guard harassed the creature again, Kai grabbed her swords from where they had clattered to the ground, and rushed forward to join the fray. Before she could reach it, however, it lashed out with one arm, catching the guard and sending him flying across the room. Then it raised a huge foot and brought it down towards Alistair's head. The Grey Warden raised his shield, intending to block the kick, and was saved from having his spine crushed by serendipity; the ground he was on was slippy with blood, and as he tried to slow he lost his footing, falling onto his back with his shield held above him. The giant's foot landed on the shield, and the impact was absorbed partially by his arms and partially by his strong armour.

Aware that she had only a few seconds before Alistair was crushed to death, Kai crouched underneath the beast and began hacking at what she hoped was a sensitive area. Whether it had the same anatomy as a human male or whether she merely irritated it she did not know, but it roared and turned, trying to locate her, to strike out and hit her. With the pressure released from its foot, Alistair rolled out of the way and brought his sword down across the back of the giant's leg, where the hamstring was located. As it toppled backwards, unable to support its own weight, Kai jumped aside to avoid being squashed. When she was out of its falling range she struck out with her Dar'Misaan, aiming it towards the creature's neck. She knew that the neck was a vital area, and a blow there was always a killing blow. Sure enough, her weapon found its mark, and when she pulled out her sword, arterial blood followed it.

"Are you alright?" she asked, panting to recover her breath. Alistair spat a mouthful of dark blood onto the floor.

"Just fantastic. No doubt we've missed Duncan's signal by now... would you like to do the honours?" He pointed toward a large pile of wood and straw, obviously intended to be the beacon.

With a nod she rummaged through her pack and pulled out a tinder kit, then began coaxing a spark from the flint inside onto some of the kindling straw. It took only a few moments for the fire to start burning brightly, and she fed wood onto it, ensuring it would burn quickly. Then she made her way to the nearest window, to look down on the battle.

There were two groups of light, down below. The largest indicated the main battle, in the pass between Ostagar and the Korcari Wilds. The other group, a short distance to the north and east, was Teyrn Loghain's group, waiting for the signal to swoop down on the Darkspawn and annihilate them.

"This is an ogre," said Alistair behind her, and she knew he was still surveying the corpse of the giant. But she wasn't listening properly. Instead, she focused her attention on the battle below. The second group of lights had begun to move.

"Alistair," she said.

"You know, I'm not surprised we found one of these here. They're like Darkspawn siege weapons... they probably intended it to hurl rocks and the like down on our army."

"Alistair..."

"I'm quite pleased that we bested it. I've never fought one before. In fact, I'd only ever heard about them from Duncan. Apparently they're quite hard to kill..."

"ALISTAIR!"

"What is it?" he asked, making his way towards her.

"Teyrn Loghain's troops... they're going the wrong way." Saying it made her blood feel cold inside. How could they be going the wrong way? Hadn't anybody told them where the battle was?

"What? That can't be!" He rushed to the window, looking where she pointed at the tiny specks of light getting smaller as they moved off into the distance. "But... we lit the beacon. They should be coming!"

There was a large crash from behind them. Kai turned and saw the door they had entered now off its hinges, a second ogre was standing in the doorway. It stepped forward, and a group of smaller Darkspawn rushed past it. They drew their bows and released a shower of arrows before she could even move. One moment she was standing, and the next she was looking up at the ceiling with a piercing pain in her shoulder. Then the world began to fade, and her vision was consumed by blackness.


	7. Two, Alone

Origins

_7. Two, Alone_

_There was pressure all around; to the sides and from below, and from above was the weight of the entire world, being held by nothing but rock. Darkness was prevalent, except in the huge caverns where ancient things slept, all but forgotten by the waking world. Going deeper and deeper became travelling through time, and the sleeping things grew older and older, larger and more vicious. Somewhere, deep in the dark caverns, one of the ancient things roared; it watched those who watched it, and it knew the minds of those who would dare to stand against it._

Kai sat up in bed, gasping for breath. Her dream... it had been so real! Had she truly seen an Arch Demon?

_Duncan!_ What had happened to him? Where was he? Where was the King, and the rest of the Grey Wardens? Where was Alistair, and why was she undressed down to her underwear? Why wasn't she lying atop the Tower of Ishal, dying from her injury? Cautiously, she raised a hand to her shoulder, feeling smooth, flawless skin beneath her fingers.

"Ah good, you're awake. Mother will be pleased."

She jumped at the voice, and then caught sight of Morrigan in the far corner of the room. The young woman was merely watching her with a bemused expression.

"What... what happened?" she managed to croak out through her dry throat. Morrigan walked to a dresser and poured a beaker of water from a pitcher, then gave it to her. She gulped it down gratefully.

"You were injured, and Mother saved you."

"Where is the army? Where is the King?"

"From what I can gather, the man who was to come to your rescue decided instead to quit the battlefield. All who remained were massacred, and any survivors dragged back down into the earth by the Darkspawn. I can't say what for. You wouldn't like to see what remains of that place now."

"Why? What is happening there?"

"You truly wish to know? It may distress you."

"I am already distressed. Please tell me."

"Very well. The Darkspawn remain, feeding upon the flesh of the dead. The plains are flowing with blood."

"Are there no survivors? None at all?"

"A few, yes. Stragglers who are limping their way alone back to wherever they came from, or perhaps just going elsewhere to die. You're lucky you weren't one of them. Mother came just in time to save you and your friend."

"Alistair?"

"Yes. The suspicious dimwitted one who was with you previously in the Wilds. He's outside, sulking. I suppose it would be cruel of me to say that he's being childish?"

"Why did your mother rescue only us? Why not anybody else? Come to think of it, how did she even _reach_ us? We were atop a tower, surrounded by Darkspawn."

"I have asked myself the same questions. As for why you and not others, I can only assume that you were the only ones she could reach... or the only ones left alive. Were it me, I would have tried to rescue your King. He must be worth a far larger ransom than you."

"Much, much larger," she agreed wryly.

"According to Mother she turned into a giant bird and plucked the two of you from atop the tower, one in each talon. If you don't believe that, then ask her for yourself."

"Was I badly injured? I remember being shot with an arrow."

"Yes. But not so badly injured that Mother couldn't repair the damage. She said that you have already made a full recovery, and that a little food and rest will see you right."

"How is Alistair? Was he injured too?"

"No, but he is not taking no news of your army's defeat very well. You may wish to console him, or beat some sense into him, or whatever it is people do at times like these. Feel free to dress and wander about as you like... I will go and inform mother that you are awake."

"Thank you," she said, genuinely grateful for the care she had received. Morrigan merely smiled and left.

She pushed herself off the bed and was pleased when her legs did not buckle beneath her. As she dressed she sipped at a beaker of hot soup that had been left on the dresser, and felt her stomach grumble in thanks. She slipped her shirt over her head, climbed into her brown leggings, and then put on her leather armour, noting in passing that it had been cleaned; no longer was it caked in Darkspawn blood.

If she had had any doubts that she was back in the Wilds, those doubts fled as soon as she stepped out the door. A damp, musty smell assaulted her nostrils and the sound of crickets and grasshoppers chirping reminded her of the first time she had been in the Wilds. How long ago had that been? It could have been a day, or even a week for all she knew. Morrigan hadn't been clear on how long she had been unconscious...

Not far away was Morrigan's mother. The elderly woman merely watched her as she took in her surroundings. A little further away was Alistair; he was standing with his back to her, looking out over a small lake. He didn't even turn around at the sound of her approach... a troubling sign in a warrior trained to his standard. Only in the comfort of his own home would a warrior behave like that... or if he truly didn't care whether he lived or died.

"Alistair..." she said. He turned around with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"You... you're alive! They told me you were, but they wouldn't let me see you, so I didn't know what to believe. You _are_ alive, aren't you? I mean, this isn't just some dream I'm having?"

"I can pinch your skin, if that helps?"

"I doubt it would. Are you injured? I saw you get shot. I tried to move, to help you, but I blacked out. Maybe something hit me on the head... does it still hurt?"

"No, I am healed, thanks to Morrigan's mother."

"Yes... we'd both be dead if it wasn't for Morrigan's mother."

"You young people talk about me as if I'm not even here," the old woman spoke up.

"I'm sorry," said Alistair. For the first time since she had met him, he appeared contrite. "But what do we call you? I mean, you never told us your name."

"The Chasind call me Flemeth. You may call me that also."

"Flemeth? _The_ Flemeth, from legend? You must be very old. No offence."

"Or you must be very young. None taken."

"Thank you, Flemeth, for saving our lives," Kai said, bowing her head in thanks. "But why did you do it? Not that I am not grateful, of course."

"Why? Well, we couldn't have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, could we? As I recall, you're needed to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking."

"I wouldn't even know where to begin doing that."

"Well..." said Alistair hesitantly. "We _do_ still have the treaties. Duncan left them in my care. I don't think he wanted to risk them on the battlefield. We have one for the Circle of Magi, one for your people, and one for the dwarves."

"I suppose we can no longer count on Loghain to win the battle for us," she said. "Why did he leave the King and the Grey Wardens to die?"

"I've been thinking about it, and I just don't know. The only reason I can come up with is maybe he wants the crown for himself. It just doesn't make any sense."

"The minds of men rarely do," said Flemeth. "Who knows why the man left? For power? Because of greed? Cowardice? The evil behind the Darkspawn often pales in comparison to the evil behind the eyes of men."

"Arl Eamon would never stand for this," said Alistiar. "We should go to him, and tell him of Loghain's betrayal. He wasn't at Ostagar, so he'll still have all his men. And he was Cailan's uncle, which gives him a personal interest in bringing Loghain to justice."

"Justice is subjective," said Kai. "No amount of justice will bring back the King, or Duncan, or the other men and women who were killed. But you know more of these things than I do. If you think we should seek Arl Eamon's aid, then that is what we shall do."

"Hmm," said Flemeth. "Mages, elves, dwarves, this Arl Eamon... to me, it sounds like you're building an army."

"Can we really do that?" asked Alistair, ans she saw his mind alight with the possibilities. "Can we really go to all these people and build an army to battle the Blight?"

"First I would suggest that you deal with this betrayer, with the one you call Loghain. Then your path to the Arch Demon will be clear, free from obstruction. Before you go, however, there is one more thing I can give you to help." At that moment, Morrigan approached.

"The stew is on the pot, Mother. Shall we be having two guests this evening... or none?" the young woman smiled.

"The Grey Wardens will be leaving shortly, Morrigan. And you will be going with them."

"Such a shame. And here I was looking forward to... what?"

"You can't fool me, girl, you've been itching to get out of the Wilds for years, and now is your chance. These young Grey Wardens will need your help if they are to defeat the Blight."

"But... I didn't want to leave like _this_."

"We don't always get to choose our own time and place. Yours is now. I hope you understand what I am giving to you, Grey Wardens... it is that which I care for more than anything."

"I understand," said Kai. "But she doesn't have to come with us, if she does not want."

"Nonsense! Her magic will serve you well against the Darkspawn. She knows the ways of the Wilds, and she will be able to help you get past the horde."

"Well..." said Morrigan, hesitating momentarily. "If you will give me a moment I'll go and pack my things."

"No offence," said Alistair to Flemeth, "but how much help do you think an apostate may be to us out of the Wilds?"

"If you believe you do not require the help of apostates, perhaps I should put you back on the tower?"

"Point taken."

"Thank you, Flemeth, for everything you've done for us," said Kai.

"Don't thank me yet. Perhaps I've merely stalled your deaths for a time. Perhaps I've saved you now, only for you to die in the fight against the Blight."

"Still, at least we have a chance to make things right."

"A very small, almost immeasurable chance..." said Alistair.

"I'm ready," said Morrigan, reappearing from the hut. "Mother, don't forget about the stew. I would have to return and find our home burnt to the ground."

"This home and the entire Wilds will be burnt by the Blight, if you are not successful."

"I... I just meant..."

"I know what you meant. You worry about me too much. Now, it is time for you to leave. The Wilds are not fond of strangers, and you Grey Wardens have stayed long enough. Remember what I told you... and good luck with your task."

Without a word of goodbye, Morrigan turned and walked away, picking the driest path through the swampy ground. Kai followed her, with Alistair bringing up the rear. For a moment, she wondered if Morrigan was sad about leaving her mother and her home. For Kai, leaving her clan, her family, had been the hardest thing she had ever had to do. But Morrigan didn't seem the sentimental type. No doubt she would barely even think about the place she called home.

o - o - o - o - o

"I suggest we go first to Lothering," said Morrigan as she stopped them late in the afternoon for a drink and a quick meal of rations. "Tis a small village on the northern edge of the Korcari Wilds, and I have been there several times. 'Tis a stopping place for travellers along the Imperial Road, and we will be able to resupply ourselves and rest before the journey ahead."

"How far is it to Lothering?" Kai asked.

"No more than a few hours. We shall be there well before dark."

"And how are you going to get us past the horde?"

"I think a more appropriate question would be how are we going to sneak your friend here past the horde," said Morrigan, gesturing at Alistair. Kai quirked a questioning eyebrow at him.

"It's true. We can sense the Darkspawn, and conversely, they can sense us," he explained.

"I sense nothing."

"That will change, in time. Right now, your abilities are still weak, they haven't had time to take hold and grow. Give it a few days, and you'll be sensing them everywhere we go."

"You are lucky," said Morrigan, "that most of the horde has moved on. 'Twill be small groups that we encounter... raiding parties, perhaps, or scouts."

"Yeah. That's me. Lucky. Can we go now?"

Morrigan took the lead position at the front of their tiny group, and they set out again through the damp, musty swamp. Kai wondered how anybody could bear living here. There were trees, yes, but the ground away from them was damp and springy. In some places, the water smelt like bad eggs, and tiny biting flies constantly harassed her. Morrigan didn't seem to bother about them, and Alistair's attention was elsewhere; he barely seemed to notice the flies swarming around them. Why did Flemeth and Morrigan live alone out here? Shemlen tended to like living in groups; this much she knew.

"Morrigan? Why do you and your mother live out here alone?" she asked.

"Because we are apostates."

"That is the Chantry's name for illegal mages, is it not?"

"Yes. Apostates practice magic outside of the Circle of Magi, which the Chantry does not approve of. They like to stamp out magic they are not in control of, and so they send templar fools like Alistair here to track down and 'neutralise' apostates."

"Why?"

"Because apostates may become maleficarum; blood mages, abominations in slavery to eeeevil demons."

"Amongst my people, the Keepers and their apprentices practice magic. Many are great healers. Does this make them apostates?"

"In the eyes of the Chantry, it no doubt does. I wouldn't go around telling people of your Keepers' magic, if I were you. Just a friendly piece of advice."

"The Chantry claims that apostates are dangerous and illegal, abominations in the eyes of the Maker, yet many apostates helped Andraste in her war against the Tevinter Imperium, did they not?"

"And how is it that you know so much about the Chantry and Andraste and the Maker," said Morrigan, stopping and turning to address her directly. "I thought your people kept away from humans and sinned by worshipped your pagan gods?"

"We do. And that is true. But sometimes, flat-ears will come to us. You know of them? The elves who gave in to the humans and became their slaves? They come to us to learn what it is like to be free. In turn, we learn from them what it is like to be amongst humans. They tell us of the Maker, and of their masters, what cities are like,why humans despise us, and so forth."

"Why bother trying to rehabilitate them at all? A dog will never become a wolf, no matter how much you teach it."

"We have to try. Otherwise we would be no better than their shemlen masters, leaving them to live in ignorance."

"What becomes of the flat-ears who join you?" Alistair asked from behind.

"It varies. We can teach them our lore, teach them to hunt, teach them to think of themselves as free. But we cannot make them believe the lore. We cannot teach them to move through the forest as if they are part of it. We cannot teach them how to become one with the shadows, or move with the wind, or think of themselves as anything other than out of place in the wilds. That must come with time. Some eventually become accustomed to our ways, and become one of us. Others can never change, never think of themselves as anything but city elves amongst Dalish. They live amongst us, free, but never truly feeling as if they belong. Some bring their own cages with them."

"Why they don't just rise up against their masters is beyond me," said Morrigan, continuing on her way. "Tis what I would do, in their position."

"They are born into servitude, told from the moment they can talk that they exist to serve. The humans spread lies about the Dalish, saying that we are godless and evil, that we have no respect for the sanctity of life. There is no sense of cohesion amongst the city elves, nobody to encourage them to stand up for themselves. And because they believe the lies, they are slow in coming to us."

"And these are the people you Grey Wardens want to save? Frightened cattle, too weak and afraid to stand up for themselves? Humans who spread lies about you? Men who betray their king in his hour of need?"

"Save them?" she asked, momentarily confused. "Ah, another vague human expression. I will fight to protect them, yes. But saving them? That is something they can only do themselves. Besides, Blights are not selective. They wipe out all before them; the guilty, the innocent, regardless of race, age or gender. Were they able to discriminate between who should live and die, perhaps they would not be such a bad thing."

Morrigan didn't offer any more points of discussion as they made their way slowly north. Either she had nothing further to say, or Kai had given her something worth thinking about.

o - o - o - o - o

When Alistair had been silent for several hours, Kai fell back to walk beside him. She knew how he felt; she herself had spent most of the two day journey from her clan's camp to Ostagar in silence, as she mulled over her fate and worried about the loss of Tamlen. Though she did not want to interrupt Alistair's mourning of Duncan, she knew that sometimes, sharing the pain made it easier to bear.

"Do you want to talk about Duncan?" she asked him when it was obvious he wouldn't start conversation on his own.

"You don't have to. You didn't know him for as long as I did."

"I did not know him well, but I respected him, and wish I had known him better. As we travelled from my clan's home to Ostagar, we spoke briefly, of family and such things. He told me that he had no family of his own, but that he considered the recruits he took into the ritual to be like his children, and the Grey Wardens he thought of as his family. I suppose, in a way, that makes you and I like brother and sister."

"I never really thought of it that way before."

"No? Then your words during the joining ritual were just a meaningless tradition?"

"My...words?"

"'Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we uphold the duty that cannot be forsworn'. Or something to that effect. I may not have remembered the exact wording, but I _did_ spend the next hour unconscious and having nightmares."

"Oh, that. No, what I said wasn't meaningless. I just thought... well... I didn't think that you'd see any meaning in it."

"Because I am Dalish, and therefore would not claim kinship with shemlen?"

"Not at all. It's just that most new recruits focus on the next part, about the sacrifice and perishing. They tend not to remember the first part."

"But I am not most new recruits. Anyway, what I wanted to say was that if you wish to talk about Duncan or any of the Grey Wardens, I will listen."

"Would you think I'm really stupid if I said I wished I had been there on the battlefield with him, so that he didn't have to die alone?"

"I would," Morrigan called back. "Because then you would also be dead."

"No, I do not think that is stupid," said Kai, ignoring the other woman. "When my friend Tamlen disappeared, I wished more than anything that I could be with him, to ease his pain, to let him know that he was not alone. It is our desire to accept pain on behalf of others, to bleed for them to lessen their pain, to sacrifice something of ourselves for them, that makes us Grey Wardens. Is it not?"

"Yes. I suppose you're right. You know, I think Duncan said he was from Highever, or thereabouts. After all this is over... the Blight, Loghain... I might go up there and put up something in his memory. How do your people... you know... perform funeral rites?"

"We bury the deceased, and plant a tree over the grave."

"That's quite beautiful. Life from death. Perhaps I can find something to plant. Something that will live on after him."

"Alistair..." she began, unsure how to broach a potentially sensitive subject. "Before the battle, you told me that we should be looking for Teyrn Loghain to win it for us with his tactics. You put your trust in him, as did Duncan, and the King. Everybody did. We thought that he was an honourable man. How can you be sure that this man we are going to see, Arl Eamon, won't support Loghain. After all, if one honourable man can prove untrustworthy, why not another?"

"The Arl would never do anything like that. I know him too well."

"You said that he raised you..." she prompted.

"Did I say that? I meant wild dogs raised me. Huge wild dogs from the Anderfels. Very strict parents, and devout Andrastians to boot."

"And I suppose these dogs later sold you to the Chantry when you grew too large for them to manage?"

"Oh, you were listening when I mentioned that? I'm more used to people not listening when I'm talking. You're one of those people who remembers things, aren't you? I can tell. Anyway, the truth is, I'm a bastard. And before you turn that one into a joke, I mean the fatherless kind. My mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe Castle, and she died not long after my birth. Arl Eamon took me in and raised me. He didn't have to, and the Maker knows he suffered enough rumours for it, but he was a good man. He _is_ a good man. I know he'll help us against Loghain."

"Why did he send you to the Chantry?"

"He married a young woman from Orlais. The King wasn't too happy about that of course, it was just after the end of the war with Orlais, but Eamon was in love. She didn't like me very much. Rumour had me pegged as the Arl's bastard, and she probably wondered if it was true. Looking back, I can see that she saw me as a threat, to herself and her newborn son. So, off I was shipped to the monastery, to begin training as a templar."

"You do not seem the religious type."

"You're telling me! I was sent to the kitchen to scrub pans more times than I can count. And that was quite a lot, I can count pretty high."

"I am glad I was born Dalish. We do not send our orphans away. The entire clan raises them." Humans could be quite callous at times, it seemed.

"I can't say that I blame the Arlessa. She did what she thought was right at the time."

"And you never knew your father?"

"I know who I was _told_ he was. But that doesn't matter... he died some time ago. For all intents and purposes I consider Eamon my father figure, and the Grey Wardens my family. At least... they _were_," he said with a sad shake of his head.

"And still are. As long as we're both alive, the Grey Wardens will continue. I do no know if I will ever be able to go back to my clan. When I left, they were preparing to head north, to flee the Blight. Until I can go back, if ever, my home is with the Grey Wardens, and that means with you."

"I think I will walk on ahead for a while, lest you infect me with your sentimental Grey Warden nonsense," said Morrigan. She increased her pace until she was out of hearing range.

"Hmm... Morrigan scared off by sentimental nonsense," said Alistair thoughtfully. "Good to know. I'll have to remember that. But thanks. I didn't know you felt that way about the Grey Wardens. Most do, eventually, but you haven't been with us very long."

"Really? It feels like an eternity. Time is strange like that. The two days I spent travelling to Ostagar passed in the blink of an eye. Albeit a grief-filled eye. But events since I arrived in Ostagar seem to have played out over a lifetime. It feels like I have always been a Grey Warden, like I have always known you. I suppose part of it is due to stress... I have never really done anything like this before. Being away from my people, from the forests that we wandered, from everything that is familiar, is... difficult."

"You were never meant to do this alone. Duncan was supposed to be here, to help you and to teach you. And me. I've only been a Grey Warden for six months. It may sound like a long time, but it really, really isn't."

"For what it's worth, I think you're doing an excellent job so far. I will definitely be giving you high marks on your Grey Warden evaluation form."

"Thanks. I suppose we'll both find our feet eventually. Until then, we'll just have to take things one day at a time."

"You could always pray for divine intervention from your Maker."

"Somehow, I doubt he listens to people like me. Otherwise, he would have answered long ago."

"Then we will have to save the world ourselves. How hard can it be?" she smiled.

"Right. No problem at all. I'm sure we'll be done by the end of next week, then we can spend the rest of our lives relaxing beside some beach being served by nubile young women... or men, if you prefer. They'll sing songs about our valiant quest from here to Orlais.

"That's the spirit," said Morrigan, waiting on the road for them. "When all else fails, a blind refusal to accept the reality of a situation will see you through."

"I thought you were going on ahead to escape our sentimental Grey Warden nonsense," said Alistair, narrowing his eyes at the woman.

"I did. And we have arrived at Lothering. But several large, unhygienic men appear to be blocking the way. I thought that you Grey Wardens might like to speak to them."

"Very well," said Kai. "We should see what this is about. Lead us to these men, though I suspect this cannot end well."


	8. Bounties

Origins

_8. Bounties_

From her vantage point high in a tree, Kai looked out over the road. As Morrigan had said, a group of men were blocking their way. They seemed to have set up some sort of defensive barrier made out of old carts and up-turned wooden tables. Though they could simply be Lothering's militia, preparing defences against the Darkspawn, she suspected it was more than that. Whoever they were, they were blocking the only road into Lothering, which lay not far away, nestled beside a river bank.

She climbed down the tree with the expertise of one born to tree-climbing, and turned to her companions as soon as she touched the ground.

"There are six men, armed, and they have some sort of barricade. They do not appear to be wearing any discernible uniform, and they appear to have been there for some time."

"Lothering has no militia, only a light guard and the templars who are stationed within the Chantry," said Morrigan. "You would know even from this distance if they were templars... bright shiny armour and the unnatural stink of holy righteousness."

"I suppose there's only one way to find out who they are," said Alistair, gesturing to the road. Kai took the lead, running the palm of her hand over the handle of her Dar'Misaan. The weapon had served her well, and would no doubt be tasting blood again before the day was done.

It didn't take long to reach the barricade, and as she approached it, three of the men stepped out from behind it, grinning at their small group. One man stepped forward, and she surmised he was their leader. He was clad in leather armour, and hadn't shaved in days. His boots were mud-spattered and well worn... obviously these men had been living rough for a while.

"Well well, you're a pretty little thing, ain't ya?" he said, and she detected the smell of alcohol on his stale breath. "Playing at soldiers, are you? Well, there's a toll to get into Lothering. Everyone pays it; merchants, refugees, even pretty little soldiers like yourself."

"Aw, they don't look much like them others," said one of the thugs nervously. "Perhaps we should let them past."

"Highwaymen, praying on the needy," Alistair said quietly in her ear.

"They are fools to stand in our way. I say we slay them," Morrigan declared loudly.

"Hmm..." said the bandit's leader, narrowing his eyes. "I don't know who the mouthy lass is, but I recognise the two of you well enough. You're Grey Wardens, come from Ostagar. Well, there's a nice little bounty on your head, and me and my men are going to collect it."

He reached for his sword, but Kai was faster. She kicked up as hard as she could, catching the man's hand with her boots. His fingers cracked and he screamed, clutching his broken hand to his chest. Before he could think of retribution, she took her dagger from her belt, side-stepped behind him, and put him in a head lock with the dagger against his throat.

"Tell your men to stand down," she said.

"Put your weapons down!" said the bandit frantically. His men, in various stages of drawing their weapons, slowly put them on the ground.

"Now, tell me everything you know about this bounty, and how you recognised us."

"It was Teyrn Loghain! He came this way a day or two back, said the Grey Wardens had betrayed them... said you'd killed the King! He said there was a bounty on the head of any Grey Warden found in Ferelden. He... he said there were two missing from the battle, two deserters. One, a Dalish elf, tattoos all over her face. The other, a tall fair-haired man, maybe passing himself as a knight or a templar. He's put fifty gold each on you... or a hundred and fifty for the pair."

"A hundred and fifty, dead or alive," said Alistair appreciatively. "And there are a lot of desperate people in Ferelden..."

"Oh no, not dead or alive. He doesn't want you alive... dead or nothing, the Teyrn said."

"You know," said Kai thoughtfully, "I am recently taken by bouts of the shakes." She moved the knife across the bandit's throat. "And I think I feel another bout coming on any minute now. So before I accidentally sever your jugular, I suggest you give my tall fair-haired friend there all the gold that you have taken from people passing this road, and then I may let you and your friends leave, as long as you do it very, very quickly."

Carefully, the bandit leader reached into his pockets, and brought out several bags of coins. Alistair took them from him, and then Kai released the knife from his neck. He gestured for his men to follow, and they ran as fast as their legs could carry them.

"We could simply have killed them," said Morrigan, once the men were out of sight.

"True. But I wanted information, and dead men do not talk."

"This bounty is going to make things very difficult," said Alistair, putting the coin bags in his pack. "Those descriptions were a little too accurate for my liking. If those idiots could recognise us, so could anybody else with half a mind."

"Changing the colour of one's hair is easy enough," said Morrigan thoughtfully. "But covering up all of your tattoos... I do not see how that is possible, short of putting a bag over your head."

"I would prefer to remain bag-less, thank you."

"Then perhaps you should try passing yourself off as one of the flat-eared servants you hold in such contempt."

"If a dog cannot become a wolf, what makes you think a wolf can become a dog? I would rather die than partake in servitude, feigned or otherwise."

"Really? With fifty sovereigns on your head, you may just get your wish."

"Maybe we should buy a couple of helmets from Lothering," Alistair suggested. "Ah, here's somebody who wasn't so lucky with those bandits." He was looking down at the armoured body of a knight. Kai knelt down beside the corpse and began checking it for personal effects. "Um, robbing from the dead is generally frowned upon, you know."

"I am not robbing from him, I am looking for anything that might identify him. Don't you think it strange that a single knight should be out here at the edge of the Wilds?"

"Maybe he was a survivor from Ostagar."

"Maybe... but I doubt it. The blood on his armour is his own, not that of Darkspawn. Ah, we have something the bandits missed or did not care for." She took from one of the knight's pockets a note written on vellum and a small holy symbol on a silver chain. Unrolling the note, she scanned her eyes over it, and then read it aloud. "Ser Donall. Lothering Chantry. Donall, we have been unable to locate the urn. I fear that Lady Isolde has sent us on a fool's errand. We are warriors, not scholars. I recommend we return to the castle. I have encountered Ser Perth, and he is already on his way back. May the Maker help us all. Henric."

"I know Ser Donall... he is one of Arl Eamon's knights," said Alistair. "As is Ser Perth, and Ser Henric. Or at least, he _was_. But I wonder what they're doing out here. Why would the Arlessa send Eamon's knights away from Redcliffe? It just doesn't make any sense. If you don't mind, I'd like to find Ser Donall. If he _is_ at Lothering's Chantry, he can probably shed some light on all of this."

"Of course. We will seek him out together."

"Oh, a visit to the Chantry. How wonderful," said Morrigan. "Not only do you have to worry about me being recognised as an apostate, but also the pair of you being recognised as Grey Wardens. Then off our heads will come."

"I do not see how we have any other choice," said Kai, standing and looking towards the village.

"That pretty much sums up our entire situation," Alistair sighed. "All we can do is keep moving forward, and hope we don't run into a trap."

There was the sound of a dog barking on the path behind them, and a huge Mabari war hound came lumbering down the road covered in dark blood. When it saw Kai it began whining, and crept towards her in a cringing motion. Its short stubby tail, docked so that it did not present a target, wagged furiously from side to side.

"Must be one of the survivors from Ostagar," said Alistair.

When the dog lay at her feet, still whining, she knelt down to examine it. She ran her hands over its body, checking for wounds or injuries. Surprisingly, the animal was unharmed, the blood obviously not its own. So why was it crying, then?

"Mabari hounds imprint on their masters for life," Alistair explained. "His probably died during the battle, and he's been looking for a new master ever since. I think he likes you."

"Do you wish to fight the Darkspawn with us, dog?" she asked. The hound barked and wagged his tail.

"They're very intelligent... it's said that mages created them to be clever, and that they can understand anything you ask them."

"That makes the hound slightly more intelligent than you then Alistair, does it not?" Morrigan quipped.

"Oh yes, very funny aren't we?"

"You may come with us, dog," said Kai, ignoring the other two. "I only hope Ar'la does not mind your presence."

"Who's Ar'la?" Alistair asked.

"He is my companion."

"Your... invisible companion?"

"He is not invisible. He is close by, but he is shy and will not leave the safety of the trees whilst you are nearby. He is not as trustful of shemlens as I am."

"And did Duncan know about this friend of yours?"

"No, I did not see how Ar'la was any concern of Duncan's."

"True, I suppose. Well, you can let your friend know that he has nothing to fear from me. Morrigan, on the other hand..."

"Perhaps we should simply stand here talking all day," said Morrigan. "I'm sure the Darkspawn horde will wait for us before making another attack."

"Please show us the way to Lothering, Morrigan," said Kai, gesturing for the dog to follow.

"What are you going to call him?" Alistair asked as they fell in line behind the witch. "The dog, I mean."

"I shall call him Da'len."

"Huh. There's not much that's little about him though, is there?"

"That may be the case, but I think the name suits him."

"Alright, alright. Far be it from me to attempt to name your dog. We don't really get on anyway, dogs and I."

"And here I thought you would have had _so_ much in common with a large, smelly, drooling, fawning creature," said Morrigan.

"Really? And I was just thinking the same about you."

Kai sighed. It was hard to tell how much of their insulting was genuine hostility. If Alistair truly was templar-trained then Morrigan was right to fear him. Yet she did not act like somebody who was afraid. Was that why she insulted him, to prove that she wasn't afraid? Kai could sympathise with both of her companions, and she hoped that eventually the pair would get over their mutual distrust of each other. After all, how was she supposed to unite the lands if she couldn't even unite the people travelling with her?

o - o - o - o - o

"Halt, travellers," said the templar standing at the entrance to Lothering. "You would be better off leaving now... Lothering is lost."

"It doesn't look particularly lost to me," said Morrigan. "I'm quite sure it's on any map of the region." The templar narrowed his eyes at her through the slit of his helm, and then turned back to Kai.

"The Chantry and the inn are full up; we just don't have room for any more refugees," he explained.

"We are not refugees, we are simply passing through on our way to the Imperial Road. Why is Lothering in such a bad way?" she asked.

"Teyrn Loghain came this way two days ago, and took our Arl and his men with him. Since then, the Chantry has been trying to keep order, but we templars are the only martial force left. We're trying to evacuate the village as fast as possible, but the refugees come in faster than they leave. Tempers are running high, and it won't be long before somebody decides he's had as much as he can take. But if you want to know more, talk to Ser Bryant. He's in charge of the templars here in the village. He's in the Chantry."

Morrigan led them on into the village. Everywhere Kai she looked she saw dirty, hungry faces, their eyes filled with sorrow and loss. How could this village's Arl just leave the people like this? How could the people just accept their fate, accept living in poverty and squalor? Why didn't they help themselves, instead of waiting for somebody else to come along and help them?

"You look upset," Alistair pointed out.

"I am," said Morrigan. "Tis the smell, you see. It assails the nostrils so violently, that one is almost left gagging."

"I didn't mean you."

"I am fine," said Kai. "I was just thinking about how these people have been let down by their Arl. How could he just abandon them like this? Why do they not do something to help themselves? They look tired, hungry and dirty. But surely it costs nothing to wash in the river, or to hunt their own food?

"No doubt their Arl is a petty little man, more concerned with his own fortunes than those of his people," said Morrigan. "I have observed that humanity is a selfish thing."

"Ah yes, let us hear more from Morrigan, expert in the field of human behaviour. What canny observations have you come up with now?" asked Alistair sarcastically.

"Shh," said Kai. "Keep your voices down. We are already drawing enough attention as it is."

"Right, the whole bounty thing. Sorry."

For a wonder, their arguing fell silent, and Kai was free to let her attention wander back to the village. It wasn't a large settlement, and didn't appear particularly affluent. The roads were cobbled, but not paved, and some of the cobbles were missing entirely. Several stalls had been erected along the roadside, and these displayed various wares; clothes and shoes, bags and containers, jewelry, ornaments and materials for dress-making. But there was very little food, and even the stall-keepers themselves looked hungry and harrowed. Not far away was a large, well-maintained building, which she guessed to be the Chantry. There was a robed man stood outside, and she stopped to listen to his words.

"It's the Chant of Light," Alistair explained when he noted her puzzled expression. "It is all that he can say."

"Why?"

"Because he has taken a vow to speak nothing but the Chant."

"How strange."

"To you and I, I suppose it is. To him, it is an act of dedication., a sacrifice to the Maker and Andraste. It's claimed that when the Chant of Light is recited in all four corners of the world, the Maker will return."

"That sounds like blackmail, to me."

"It really only makes sense if you're devoutly religious, I suppose."

"And are you?"

"Well, I believe in the Maker well enough. The rest of it... I'm not so sure."

"Does not the Chantry claim that the Darkspawn first arose because the mages of the Tevinter Imperium entered your Maker's Golden City, corrupting it with their sin? That the Maker then cast them out, where they became twisted and tainted others with their false pride?"

"Yes, that's the nutshell version," he admitted cautiously.

"Then does it not go against your beliefs to battle something that the Maker created?"

"But he created the Darkspawn as punishment, to remind us of our sins. Allegedly. It's enough for me that the Darkspawn threaten all that lives. I'll fight them no matter who created them."

"It seems unfair, to me, that your Maker decided to punish the hubris of man by sending the mages of the Tevinter back as Darkspawn, and yet the Darkspawn endanger not only humans but also those who had nothing to do with them... Elves and Dwarves. We do not believe in your Maker, and yet we must apparently suffer the same punishment as humans. And your folk say that _our_ gods are cruel and primitive..."

"Tis an excellent point, you must admit," Morrigan smiled at Alistair.

"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm being flanked on both sides?" he scowled.

"I do not wish to fight over this," Kai acquiesced. "I will not mention it again."

"Well... thanks. I don't mind answering questions about the Chantry, but I don't want to fight over it either. I mean, it's not like I have all the answers. You and your people have a right to feel angry about the Chantry and the Maker, after everything that was done by the former in the name of the latter. I'm sorry if my upbringing it makes you uncomfortable to be around me."

"Not at all," she smiled. "Are we not kin, tied together by blood, after all?"

"Ugh. I'll be inside the Chantry when you're done with the therapy sessions," said Morrigan. She left them and stalked into the building like an irate cat.

"Thanks for putting up with me," said Alistair, his voice serious for once. "I know I haven't exactly been the best company so far. I just have a lot on my mind, and I doubt things are going to get any better for us any time soon."

"Do not worry about it. Why don't we just see what this man, Ser Donnall, has to say? We will take this Blight one day at a time, remaining flexible like the willow tree swaying in the wind."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Let's go and find Ser Donnall, then. And with any luck we can lose Morrigan before we leave."

The scene inside the Chantry was no less disturbing than outside. The floor was filled with blankets and sleeping rolls, with only a narrow path leading to the far end of the hall. The refugees sitting amongst the blankets were mainly women and children, though there were also a few men, consoling their wives.

"There's Ser Donall," said Alistair, striding forward. "Ser Donall!" The knight looked up, and a momentary expression of confusion crossed his face.

"Alistair? It's really you? You're alive? Thank the Maker. It is good to see you again."

"And you too, Ser Donall. But tell me, what are you doing here? Why aren't you at Redcliffe?"

"Then you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" asked Kai. Ser Donall eyed her skeptically for a moment.

"Is she a Grey Warden too?" he asked Alistair.

"Yes, she is. Please tell us, what is going on?"

"Ser Eamon is ill. He has been for many days. We've tried healing magics, but nothing seems to work. In desperation, the Arlessa sent the knights out into Ferelden, to seek the Sacred Urn. The one that contains Andraste's ashes."

"Then she believes the old legends that Andraste's ashes can cure any sickness and heal any injury?"

"Yes. The Arl had once hired a scholar, a Brother Genitivi, who said he had proof that the Urn had been brought to Ferelden, and was still here. But I fear this quest is one we will never complete. I have been ensconced in the tomes of the Chantry here, looking for any clues. But I can find none. Perhaps when Ser Henric arrives, we will seek out Brother Genitivi."

"Ser Henric isn't coming," she said, taking the dead knight's note and chain from her pocket and handing them to Donall. "We found him outside Lothering, killed by bandits on the road."

"I... I see. Thank you for returning these to me. At least now I know not to wait any longer. I wonder... how many other nights have given their lives on this foolish quest? But do not mind my musings. Alistair... I know you have not been home in years, but I think everybody at Redcliffe would benefit from your presence right now. I must go, but if you decide to go to Redcliffe, then tell Ser Perth, or any of the knights, that I will try to seek out Brother Genitivi, that I will keep looking, for a while at least."

"I will. The Maker watch over you, Ser Donall."

"May he watch over you and your friends, Alistair." The knight bowed and left, his posture weary, as if he carried a great weight on his shoulders.

"Kai..."

"Of course. We will go to Redcliffe as soon as we're finished here."

"Thank you. I'd hate for anything to happen to Eamon. I'd never forgive myself if he died and I wasn't... if I wasn't..."

"We have seen enough death to last us a life time," she said. "Let us hope we can do something to help your kin."

"Might I suggest we head now to the tavern?" said Morrigan, approaching from behind. "T'was why I suggested coming here in the first place. We are bound to hear rumours of what has happened in Ferelden since this man, Loghain, decided to abandon your King and all of your companions to a brutal death at the hands of Darkspawn."

"You really know how to make a person feel better, don't you?" said Alistair. "You must have gotten your amazing people skills from your mother."

"I am merely stating the obvious. If you wish to be consoled, perhaps you should seek out a priestess, or perhaps a woman of negotiable affection, if you desire personal comfort. 'Tis not what I'm here for."

"Excuse me," said a tall, armoured shemlen as he approached their small group. Kai noticed an emblem emblazoned on the chest of his armour; a fiery sword standing upright. His stand and demeanour was that of a warrior, and she instinctively ran her hand over the hilt of her Dar'Misaan.

"How can we help you, Captain..." Alistair trailed off.

"Bryant. And it's more about how you have helped me. One of my men says he saw you chasing off the bandits that have been plaguing the highways recently. I wanted to thank you... with the Arl gone, we are Lothering's last line of defence against the Darkspawn. With those vultures chased off, evacuating the refugees will be much easier."

"Have you heard any news from the rest of Ferelden, Captain Bryant?" Kai asked. He seemed to appraise her suspiciously for a moment before answering.

"Not unless you care about the affairs of the magi."

"In fact, we do."

"Really? Well then. I've heard from a reliable source that something has happened up at the Circle. Knight-Commander Greagoir has apparently called for the Rite of Annulment."

"What is that?"

"It's a... a sort of ritual," said Alistair hesitantly. "It neutralises the abilities of any mage attached to the Circle. Quite terminally. It's something of a last-ditch attempt to prevent a magical catastrophe."

"I can see that you are well-versed about the templars," said Bryant. A sinking feeling entered Kai's stomach. "You might be interested to know that Teyrn Loghain is looking for somebody who also knows about such things, and a companion of his; a young Dalish elf. He claims the pair are Grey Wardens, responsible for the death of the King and the loss of the army at Ostagar. My advice to those folk would be to disappear for a while. The roads are dangerous places, these days. Perhaps you should pass on that message, should you encounter the pair in question."

"Thank you Captain, we'll be sure to do that," said Alistair, herding both herself and Morrigan towards the door. "Good day to you."

"Can we get to Redcliffe any other way than by the road?" Kai asked.

"Not really."

"Well I for one suggest that we stop by the tavern to stock up and then head out immediately," said Morrigan. "All these refugees are making Lothering much dirtier than it normally is."

Morrigan continued on through the town, and Kai followed her, looking around at the people she passed. _This_ was what the Dalish feared? People who allowed themselves to become hungry and homeless? People who would rather give up their belongings to bandits than take up arms and defend themselves? Amongst the Dalish, even the women and children knew how to wield a weapon in case of emergencies. Usually it was nothing more than aptitude with a knife, but surely that was better than nothing?

"Excuse me," said a small shemlen boy, stepping out in front of her. His skin was dirty and his red hair had a coating of dust on it. "Have you seen my mother?"

"What does your mother look like, child?" she asked, scanning the crowd of refugees for a lone woman.

"She's tall and she's got red hair. Some bad men came to the house and mother told me to run. She said she'd be right behind me, but she hasn't come yet."

"Where is your father?" she asked, squatting down to his eye-height.

"He went to my uncle's farm a few days ago. I haven't seen him since then. Are you really an elf?" he asked suspiciously.

"Yes. Did my ears give me a way?" she smiled, turning her head so that her pointed ears were visible.

"My dad says that elves are mean, but you're nicer than anybody else here."

"Here, child. Take this and go to the Chantry. You should wait for your mother there." She took a gold sovereign from one of the pouches that Alistair had liberated from the bandits and pressed it into the child's hand.

"Thanks nice lady!" he said, running off towards the church.

"Are we saving every urchin we come across, now?" asked Morrigan. "I thought the Grey Wardens were supposed to fight the Blight, not feed the hungry."

"I have no need of human money. If you do, you are welcome to it," she said, tossing the purse of gold to Morrigan. "Giving money to those who need it more than I takes none of my time and very little effort."

As the witch tried to splutter out a reply, Kai passed her, continuing down the road in what she hoped was the right direction. Da'len trotted by her side, simply pleased at being near her. She made a mental note to wash him as soon as she had access to enough water; covered in Darkspawn blood, he looked quite a frightening sight.

"Thanks for that," said Alistair, jogging to catch up to her.

"For what?"

"For trying to help the boy. From the sounds of it, he'd been ignored until now."

"My reasons were not entirely selfless," she admitted.

"Oh? In what way?"

"If I am to convince humans that we Dalish are not violent and primitive, I must do so by changing one mind at a time. Hopefully, the boy will grow up remembering the Dalish elf who helped him, and pass on his tale to his children, who will not fear our name. One mind has been changed; only a few hundred thousand remain."

"For what it's worth, you changed my mind a long time ago."

"When I threatened to cut out your eyes and your heart?" she asked skeptically.

"You wouldn't really have done that though... would you?"

"Had you made a move to attack me, I would have killed you, yes. When the clans gather together every ten years, there are always new tales of what shemlen men have done to Dalish women unlucky enough to have been caught away from the clan and defenceless."

"I... didn't know. I'm sorry."

"Again you apologise for no reason. Is this a human trait?"

"In some of us, I suppose. I guess we should find this tavern before Morrigan starts chewing stones again, huh?"

A sign over the inn proclaimed it 'Dane's Retreat'. Dane was, Morrigan informed her, something of a hero to the humans of Ferelden. Kai cut her off before she could go into any more depth about the man; she simply did not care about dead shemlen heroes of legend.

Morrigan led the way into the inn and greeted the bar keeper by name. As she exchanged pleasantries with the man, Kai took a good look at her surroundings. Like the Chantry, the inn was packed with people; locals, refugees, performers, priests, even a trio of soldiers clad in mail armour. One of the soldiers suddenly look up at her and grinned maliciously. He stood, and his companions followed. Kai was torn between taking an instinctive step backwards, towards the door, and standing her ground and drawing her weapon. In the end, she had no choice; Alistair was behind her, so she could retreat no further.

"Aren't these the two people we've been asking about all morning?" the leader of the soldiers asked of his men. "And we were told that they hadn't been seen? Well, it looks like we've been lied to."

"We have no business with you," said Alistair, stepping beside her and folding his arms over his chest.

"Maybe not, but we have business with you. Teyrn Loghain's branded you traitors, so I think we'll be taking you back to Denerim for justice."

"Gentleman, surely there is no need for hostility," said a beautiful red-haired woman. She was wearing the robes of the Chantry, and stepped midway between Alistair and the leader of the soldiers.

"You stay out of this, Sister," said the soldier. "We're here doing the teyrn's work."

"But surely there is room for all of us to get along?" As the woman spoke, Kai shook her head; the sister's voice had a strange accent to it, and she had to concentrate on the young woman's words to make them out clearly.

"That's it," said the soldier, drawing his sword. "Kill the Wardens, the sister, and anybody else who stands in your way."

He leapt forward, slashing at Alistair, who drew his sword and shield and blocked in return. Another soldier began harassing the sister, who had somehow managed to get hold of a sword and was wielding it with surprising competence, and the third closed on Kai, obviously oblivious to Morrian casting a spell right behind him. From the corner of her eye, Kai saw the man attacking Alistair freeze, his skin turning blue as he was enveloped in ice.

She parried the strike of her own attacker, trying to avoid tripping over people who were screaming and ducking out of her way. It seemed the whole inn was in uproar as everybody tried to escape the fighting. She had just blocked one attack and was ready to strike through his defence when her Dar'Misaan erupted in flames. With a yelp she dropped it, looking in surprise at her hand; it wasn't even burnt! Almost too late she remembered to duck, and narrowly avoided decapitation. Before she could move again, the sword-wielding sister brought the hilt of her sword heavily down onto the back of the man's neck, rendering him unconscious.

With one man dead, the other frozen and the third unconscious, Kai turned her attention to her sword. It was still burning on the floor, but it wasn't actually _burning the floor_. How could that be?

"Oh really," Morrigan scoffed. "It's magical fire, it won't hurt you."

"You did this?" she asked, tentatively reaching for her weapon.

"Yes. T'would have been more use had you not dropped it."

"I did not know you could do such a thing. This must be powerful magic, to burn yet not hurt the wielder."

"I like to do my bit."

"How long will our friend here remain frozen for?" Alistair asked, tapping the soldier on his forehead. The man didn't even so much as blink.

"Long enough for us to get well away from here."

"Excuse me," said the red-haired woman, all but forgotten in the excitement of combat and flaming weapons. "Those men... they said you are Grey Wardens?"

"What of it?" Kai asked warily. She sheathed her Dar'Misaan as the fire on the blade went out.

"If you are, I want to go with you. To help you."

"Why?"

"I... I had a vision, from the Maker," the woman said, a blush suffusing her cheeks. "He told me that I must fight the Blight, and who better to do that with than Grey Wardens?"

"Huh. More crazy?" said Alistair, sheathing his sword. "I thought we were all full up."

"I do not believe in your Maker," Kai told the woman.

"You do not have to. Sometimes I think I have enough belief for everybody."

"I do not know that we can trust you."

"Nor I you. Perhaps if we are each given a chance, we may come to trust each other."

Kai studied the woman for a few moments. Her demeanour seemed earnest enough, but she wondered how much help the woman would actually be. Surely sisters were required to live quiet lives of contemplation, free from the worries of life. Still, she _had_ handled her sword competently enough.

"You may come. I am Kai. This is Alistair and Morrigan," she said, indicating her companions.

"Thank you! I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Leliana. Are you all Grey Wardens? The bounty Teyrn Loghain set mentioned only two."

"Why do you want to know?" Kai asked suspiciously.

"I wouldn't become a Grey Warden if you paid me," said Morrigan at the same time.

"I... see," said Leliana, apparently confused by the conflicting answers. "Should we be off, then? I know a merchant we can visit, if you wish to buy goods. Might I ask where we are going?"

"We have not yet decided," said Kai.

"We're going to Redcliffe," said Alistair, again at the same time.

Kai sighed. Obviously she had much to teach her new friends, particularly about how free they were with their tongues. Though this... Leliana... seemed sincere enough, one could never be to careful about such things.


	9. Cages

Origins

_9. Cages_

True to her word, Leliana led them to a merchant. Purchasing everything they needed for their journey was no problem with the money they had taken from the highwaymen. The only thing the merchant was short on was food, but that seemed to be a village-wide problem. Regardless, Kai was not too worried about food. She and Alistair had travelling rations left from Duncan's supplies, and Morrigan had brought her own food along with her. If worst came to worst she would simply hunt for more. That was the way of the Dalish.

On the outskirts of Lothering, just south of the Imperial Road, something shiny and bright caught Kai's attention. Magpie-like, she moved towards it, and discovered a cage suspended above the ground. Inside it stood... whatever it was, it had the _appearance_ of a man, at least, though he was far larger than any she had ever seen before. His skin had a golden tinge to it, his hair completely white. As she approached he merely watched her; he did not cry or beg or rant at being locked up in such a way, and her curiosity was instantly piqued. Who was he? What was he doing inside that cage? Why was his visage so strange?

"Who are you?" she asked, keeping out of arm's reach of the cage. Though the man seemed calm, for the moment, she would not risk coming too close. Let her companions think her afraid, if they liked; she knew from experience that caution was the wisest course of action in any new situation.

"Do you not know? Have the villagers not spoken of it? I am Sten of the Beresaad, Vanguard of the Qunari," he replied.

Well, that explained his strange appearance, at least. She had never seen a Qunari before, but his people had once waged a holy war against the land of Thedas, of which Ferelden was just one small part. History described them as golden giants, and now she understood why. But what was he doing here, so far from his people? Was he part of a scouting group? Were the Qunari looking to invade Thedas again, to impose their code of ethics on those they viewed as heretical?

"What are you doing in that cage?" she asked.

"I am waiting."

"For what?"

"Until I am punished for my crime, or until the Darkspawn come and kill me."

"Your crime?"

"They say that he killed a family of farmers," said Leliana. "Eight dead, including the children. Only one child was able to hide."

"It must have been hard for them to get you in there," said Alistair, eyeing up the Qunari's bulk.

"I had to wait several days at the farm for the knights to arrive. When they did, I entered their cage voluntarily."

"Why?" asked Kai, confused at his behaviour and words.

"Because I committed a crime. I must be punished for it."

"So... you seek atonement?"

"Death will be my atonement."

"This is a proud and honourable creature," said Morrigan, gesturing at the Qunari. "His death at the hands of the Darkspawn serves no purpose. I suggest if you cannot find a use for him, you free him for mercy's sake"

"Mercy?" scoffed Alistair. "That's not something I'd expect from you."

"I also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage."

"Now that's more like it."

"I believe that everybody is entitled to seek redemption in the eyes of the Maker," said Leliana. "Perhaps the atonement he seeks can be with us. The Qunari are said to be fierce warriors, after all. Please do not take this the wrong way, but you Grey Wardens... you are only two. You say you wish to unite the lands against the Blight, yet what of Sten? Perhaps his people will follow where he leads. You could have worse allies than the Qunari."

"We _could_ use all the allies we can get," said Alistair thoughtfully. "But a murderer? I don't know..."

"So you have never killed another human being before, Alistair?" Morrigan asked airily.

"I... well... fine, bring the Qunari along if you want," Alistair scowled.

"Sten of the Beresaad," said Kai, facing the giant. "My companions have expressed a desire to see you freed. We go to fight the Blight, and if you are willing to join us, to die for the cause if necessary, then I will try to free you."

"Then you are Grey Wardens?" asked Sten, appraising her frankly. "Strange. I have heard tales of your people. It seems such tales do not always live up to expectations."

"If you would prefer to remain caged..."

"No. Free me, and I will follow you to the Blight, and to my redemption."

"And if I do not lead you to the redemption you seek?"

"Then I will still fight."

"You will have to petition the Revered Mother in the Chantry," Leliana told her. "I can speak to her on your behalf, if you like. She may be more willing to listen if I promise her I will keep a close watch on him."

"Very well. Take Alistair and speak to your priestess. Morrigan and I will see about finding some proper clothing and armour for Sten."

As Leliana hurried towards the Chantry with Alistair close behind, Kai wondered if she was doing the right thing. It wasn't the fact that Sten had killed humans that worried her, but the fact that he had killed innocent humans; unarmed men, women and children. The Dalish would kill shemlen, if need be, to protect their own, but they would not kill the innocent, unless there was extreme, dire need. Perhaps the Qunari did not think of life as precious, as the Dalish and many humans seemed to. Perhaps to them, humans and elves and dwarves were little more than vermin. If so, what would Sten's presence mean for her group?

o - o - o - o - o

When Kai left Lothering, her group was larger by two than it had been when it had entered the village. If only the elves, dwarves and magi would be as easy to recruit as her newest companions. If not... well, five stood a greater chance than three, didn't they?

At the head of the group, Morrigan was leading the way, attempting to fend off Leliana's questions about her religious leanings, or lack of. Sten followed him quietly, his eyes on the horizon. As he walked, his chain armour which she had purchased for him in Lothering clinked quietly. It was the largest size for a Human man, and it barely managed to fit him. He had chosen an axe for a weapon, and she hoped he wasn't planning to use it on any more farmers.

Content that the road ahead was safe, for the moment at least, she dropped behind to walk beside Alistair. He had been silent since Sten had joined the group, and she suspected that this new silence was not on Duncan's account. What he was melancholy over now she did not know, so she took a guess.

"Did Morrigan's words bother you?" she asked.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Ever since she confronted you about killing humans, you have been reticent. It is most unlike you."

"I've... done things... that I wish I didn't have to do," he admitted cautiously.

"Haven't we all? It is a part of life."

"Do you know what a... Harrowing is?"

"No. But it does not sound pleasant."

"It isn't. In short, it's a ritual that mage apprentices have to go through, before they can become enchanters. It's a little like our Joining Ritual, and just as deadly. I've only been present for one. A girl was being tested... she had a demon put inside her, to see if she could resist. She couldn't, and we templars had to... end it quickly."

"This worries you."

"Of course it does. I didn't really have much enthusiasm for becoming a templar after that. And I began to... question things. The Chantry isn't big on its templars questioning their wisdom and methods."

"But you are not a templar. You are a Grey Warden."

"I know. But if Duncan hadn't rescued me from that life, I might still be there, still partaking in Harrowings. What if I started to become unaffected by it? What if I started believing everything the Chantry told us, about all mages being dangerous and needing to be carefully watched over?"

"Why worry over what might have been? It is not how your life worked out. Worrying serves no purpose... all it does is put you on edge. Your focus should be on the future. The _real_ future, not the future that might have been. My people have a saying; 'those who look behind never see ahead'."

"I wish I found it as easy as you do to not worry about things."

"I do worry," she assured him. "I just do not let it show. I must overcome my own fears and concerns, or they will rule me."

"Thanks for trying to help. I suppose things will be a bit easier once we reach Redcliffe. I've just got a lot on my mind, is all."

She nodded in understanding and increased her pace, leaving him in peace. Whatever was on his mind, he would work through eventually. And if he needed to talk, he knew where to find her. She knew, from experience, that sometimes you just needed to be left alone, to work out your own issues. It was too bad Duncan was not with them. The senior Grey Warden would no doubt know exactly what to do, about Alistair, about Sten, about the whole Blight. But instead of Duncan, the world had Kai. She only hoped that she wouldn't make too much of a mess of things.

o - o - o - o - o

As night drew close they stopped in the lee of a hill to set up camp. Morrigan set to work building a fire, whilst Kai began assembling the tents. Little more than waterproof tarpaulin stretched out over three straight poles that were pushed into the ground, and then pegged at the edges, the tents were not strictly necessary unless it was raining. They were far smaller, far less elaborate, than the aravels of her people, which were more like semi-permanent dwellings than rough rain-covers.

Alistair and Leliana returned from a nearby riverbank with fresh water, whilst Sten cleared the area of sharp stones and twigs, ready for them to sleep. Slowly, the clearing began to resemble a decent camp site. Happy with her companions' progress, Kai strung her bow and fastened a quiver of arrows to her belt.

"Stay," she said to Da'len, indicating the fireside with her hand.

"Where are you going?" Alistair asked as she moved away from the camp.

"Hunting."

"But we have plenty of food, you don't need to hunt."

"Ar'la wishes me to hunt with him."

"Who is Ar'la?" Leliana asked curiously.

"Kai's _mysterious_ absent companion," said Morrigan, half-mockingly.

"I'm not sure it's safe out there," said Alistair. "I mean, what with Darkspawn and bounty hunters and Loghain's soldiers... You shouldn't go alone. I'll go with you."

"I am Dalish. I am the forest, and it is me. I wear the shadows like a cloak, shroud myself in them as I pass silently across the land. I will be safe, and you will only slow me down. Besides, I will not be alone. Ar'la will be with me, and he did not invite you."

"Oh well, if Ar'la will be with you, that's different. Happy hunting, then."

She nodded, and made her way towards the forest. Clearly Alistair had forgotten how fluidly she could move, and fight, amongst the trees. She just hoped it wouldn't take saving his life again to make him remember that she was no helpless shemlen woman.

o - o - o - o - o

Leliana chewed thoughtfully on a strip of dried meat as she observed her new... friends? Not yet, but perhaps they would become that, over time. Well, some of them, maybe.

The biggest mystery was Sten. He was, she realised, an intrigue just waiting to be unravelled. If she could get him to actually converse, she did not doubt she would learn much. The Qunari were something of an enigma; though they had once invaded Ferelden and the adjoining lands in an attempt to force their religious doctrine - known only as 'the qun' - upon those they considered heathens, not much was known about their way of life, whether they had families, what sort of entertainment they liked, what they ate... and so forth.

Morrigan was almost as big a mystery. She had overheard Alistair teasing the woman about her mother... Flemeth, he had called her. Surely that was just a coincidence. Surely Morrigan's mother was not _the_ Flemeth, of legend. Flemeth, who was said to have murdered her husband in a fit of jealous rage after the assassination of her love. Flemeth, who was the dreaded Witch of the Wilds, feared by the Chasind for her unearthly desires and her habit of stealing away children. Surely it was a coincidence.

The Grey Wardens, whilst not exactly mysterious, were an odd pair. Alistair seemed straight-forward enough. His templar training obviously served him well amongst the Grey Wardens. He was dedicated to his task, if not devoutly religious, and seemed to take what you told him at face value. Kai was more guarded and closed, which wasn't really a surprise. The people of Orlais spoke of the Dalish as wild, little better than primitive barbarians. But Kai did not seem that way. She seemed to revere the land, if not all of its people, and she had a dark sense of humour that was a little alien, but not exactly hostile. She seemed proud of her heritage, and walked as one unashamed of who and what they were. The dark tattoos across her face made her seem exotic and outlandish, and in a strange way, beautiful, like something untainted and untouched by the decadence of civilisation.

Deciding this was as good a time as any to learn a little more about her new travelling companions, she stood up and then re-settled beside Morrigan, who affected not to notice her.

"Morrigan, is it true what I heard Alistair saying about your mother?" she asked.

"And what did you hear him say, exactly? Alistair does like to talk a lot, but he actually says very little."

"He said that her name is Flemeth, and that she is a Witch of the Wilds."

"Yes, her name is Flemeth. But a Witch of the Wilds? No."

"I thought that it could not be true."

"Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that she is _the_ Witch of the Wilds."

"But tales of Flemeth are hundreds of years old."

"Trust me," Alistair spoke up from across the fire, "I've seen her, and she looks it."

"And what of the rest of the legend? Is that true also, Morrigan?"

"How much do you even _know_ of the legend?" the mage asked.

"I know it is said that hundreds of years ago, before this land was even called Ferelden, Flemeth lived with her husband, Conobar of the Alamarri, in Highever Castle. She was-"

"Is."

"She _is_ a woman possessed of natural magical ability, and that Conobar shielded her from the Circle, allowing her to practice her magic with his blessing. One day, a bard named Osen arrived at the castle to sing for Conobar, and Flemeth fell in love with him, enraptured by his voice, and he felt the same for her. Together they fled Highever, and travelled to the Korcari wilds, where lived happily together for many years.

"But one day, Flemeth heard news that Conobar was lying on his deathbed, and that his dying wish was to see his wife's face once more. Flemeth was overcome with compassion for her abandoned husband, and convinced Osen to travel with her to Highever, so that she could see Conobar one last time.

"Alas for them, it was a trap, cleverly planned by Conobar to ensnare his wife. The trap sprang closed, and Osen was murdered. So angry and distraught was Flemeth that she turned to a demon, allowing it to possess her body. She slew Conobar, and all of the men who had been present at Osen's death. Then she fled back to the Wilds, to live the remainder of her life alone.

"Of course, the story does not simply end there. It is said that Flemeth was hunted throughout her life by the templars. The Chasind wilders feared her, claiming she stole their children and ate them to sate the demon inside her, so that it would preserve her youth. She would bewitch Chasind men and take them to her bed, using them to father daughters, who in turn became witches themselves. They say that on dark nights, little children should be kept quiet, lest Flemeth come for them too."

"Ah, the standard tale, then. I can't decide exactly what the message is... whether it is supposed to encourage women to be faithful to their husbands, or to scare children into going to sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow."

"Are you saying the legend is not true, then?"

"Parts of it are true. As mother tells it, 'twas not Conobar to whom she was married, but to Osen, and Conobar was the jealous lord who coveted her for his own. In fact, 'twas Flemeth herself who proposed an arrangement that would see Conobor marry her, in exchange for money for Osen. But Conobor was a greedy, dishonest man, who bartered with money he did not possess. He arranged to meet Osen to exchange payment, but instead, struck him down with his sword.

"Angered, Flemeth called upon Fade spirits to aid her, and 'twas they who killed Conobar in revenge for his crime. Only later did she turn to the demon. The rest of the tale you had mostly right... you might even have impressed mother, with the way you told it."

"I wonder why one version vilifies Flemeth, and the other Conobar?"

"'Tis easier for people to think of witches as evil and dangerous, and of lords as noble and heroic. No doubt too many women would have sympathised with Flemeth's plight, so the tale was changed by men who wished to keep their wives in line."

"You don't like men much, do you?"

"I do not like stupidity, whether it comes from men, women," Morrigan glared at the Mabari, "or hound." The dog cringed.

"And Flemeth taught you her magic?"

"Some of it, yes. Some things she would not teach me, and others she says she will teach me in time."

"You must be very brave, to walk Ferelden knowing what the templars and the Circle do to apostates. I don't think I would be able to do that, in your place."

"Yes. Well. 'Tis not so much a matter of bravery as it is intelligence. A sharp mind can outwit any opponent, especially if your opponents consist of foolish, mindless hounds like Alistair."

"Hey, the dog and I resent the implication that we're mindless," Alistair scowled.

"Thank you for being so honest with me, Morrigan," said Leliana. "You've given me much to think about. Perhaps I will even stop telling the story the old way, and tell it anew. If you do not think your mother would mind."

"I doubt she cares any longer which way it's told. But if you wish to break with tradtion, 'tis your funeral."

o - o - o - o - o

Kai hovered in the shadows, a wood pigeon tied upside down by its feet to her belt. It was not the figures beside the fire she observed, but a wagon standing still not far away. Two mules were hobbled close to it, and she recognised the short figures who were setting up a camp of their own. They were dwarves, a pair that she had saved from a small Darkspawn party earlier in the day, just outside of Lothering.

With skill borne from years of experience, she ghosted silently through the shadows until she came to the side of the wagon. Then she stepped out of the forest, causing the eldest dwarf to jump in fright.

"Oh, good evening, Warden! You scared me, there. Er... your friends said that you went hunting."

"They spoke true."

"I was travelling along the road here when I spied your camp. I er... hope you don't mind us stopping here too? I figure a Grey Warden's camp is probably about the safest place to be stopping, in these times."

"Go where you wish; I do not own this land."

"Right. Thank you. The name's Feddic, by the way. Bodahn Feddic. And this here's my boy, Sandal. Say hello, Sandal."

"Hello," the younger dwarf smiled.

"He's a bit simple, but he can fold lyrium into just about anything. If you want any enchanting done, just say the word and he'll be happy to help."

"Andaran atish'an, durgen'len. You are both welcome at my fire."

Sensing that Bodahn Feddic was a man who liked to talk, she moved on before the dwarf could begin waffling. As she approached the fire, Da'len stood and wagged his tail, obviously pleased to see her. Or maybe pleased to see fresh meat... it was hard to tell.

"And so the fierce Dalish hunter returned from victorious battle, where she valiantly conquered her pigeony foes. And that, my friends, is a true story," said Alistair.

"If you continue to mock me I will cut out your tongue," she warned.

"Can you do that anyway, just to make him stop talking?" asked Morrigan.

"Mock you? I wouldn't dream of it. I'm just practicing the first stanza of our epic balled. You know, the one about how we slew an entire horde of Darkspawn, defeated a powerful Arch Demon and saved Thedas from the Blight?"

"I don't think I have heard that one yet," she said, sitting down and plucking feathers from the pigeon.

"That's because it hasn't been written yet. But Leliana here was a bard, before she became Affirmed, and she's promised to write it for us, pigeons and all."

"Affirmed?" Kai asked the young woman.

"To be Affirmed means to affirm your dedication to the Maker and Andraste, but without the vows of poverty and chastity that are required of priests and chanters."

"So you gave up a life of freedom and renown to become a disciple of the Maker? Why?"

"It was not a conscious choice. A few months ago I found myself in Lothering, sheltering from a storm. The quiet of the cloisters was so different from anything I had experienced before. There, I found peace. When the storm passed, I did not leave with it."

"Why did you come to Ferelden? You are Orlesian, are you not? I was given to believe that relations between your people and those of Ferelden are still quite strained, after so many years of oppression."

"It is true, I was born and raised in Orlais, but my mother was a Ferelden maid in service to an Orlesian noblewoman during their occupation of this land. After the war, when the people of Ferelden began to resent any Orlesian presence, the lady went back home, and my mother went with her. Growing up, I always wanted to visit Ferelden, but I never had the chance, until recently."

"And you were truly a bard? A singer of songs, a teller of tales?"

"Yes. But I don't just sing and tell tales, I also play instruments, and learn stories and lore of old. Poems I am especially fond of."

"Those who keep the lore within our clans - the storytellers - are respected wise ones."

"Is that so? And do you have any stories from your people that you can share?" Leliana smiled, leaning forward expectantly.

"You would not like our stories. They do not have happy endings. They do not even have sad endings with happy twists, with morals and parables to teach."

"I am interested in all stories, whether they have happy endings or not."

"Very well. I shall tell you the story of my people, as it is told to us by our elders. Once, long ago, the Elvhenan were immortal. The years did not touch them, and they did not die. Instead, they entered what they called Uthenara - the long slumber. For a long time they lived in Arlathan, the heart of the elven empire, which was the centre of all elven culture.

"Then, humans came from the north. They were small things, their life-spans short, over in the blink of an eye. We called them shemlen, meaning 'the quickened ones', for the span of their lives were quick, to us. The elves of old traded with the humans, and in time, we formed friendships, even relationships. But children born to these relationships were human children. Such pairings produced no elven offspring, and our numbers began to dwindle. At the same time, the elves found themselves dying, from disease and old age. This had never happened before, and there was a great fear amongst the Elvhenan.

"Because of this fear, they withdrew from their borders, retreated to the heartlands of the forests and dales. The men of the Tevinter Imperium saw this as a potential act of aggression; they invaded our lands, and razed Arlathan to ashes. The elves they captured in battle became their slaves. Our great libraries were burnt to the ground. Our histories were destroyed, and our language outlawed. For a long time we dwelt in darkness, and forgot who we were."

"And then Andraste waged war against the Tevinter Imperium, aided by the great elven hero, Shartan," continued Leliana.

"Yes. Shartan led our people against their masters. When Andraste was betrayed by her mortal husband, Shartan was burnt with her at the stake. When the will of the Imperium broke following Andraste's death, our people became free. We claimed the lands of the Dales as our own, and set about rebuilding what we had lost.

"But it was not oto be. Though cities were built, the humans once again grew jealous and afraid of us. They feared what would happen if we were able to reclaim our past. Because we would allow the building of no Chantry on our lands, a holy war was waged against us. Again, our cities were sacked, the Elvhenan brought to their knees. Most capitulated, choosing to live amongst their human conquerors as servants. But a few would not bend knee; they fled deep into the Dales. They split up into family groups, into the tribes and clans that wander the Dales today. Fractured into small groups, we became too difficult for the humans to hunt. And so we Dalish travel the land, looking for remnants of lost Arlathan, searching for who we are, and hoping that the day will come when our people will be united once more, and we can build a home that will rival what Arlathan was before it, and we, became lost.

"At any rate, that is what the rest of the Dalish do. I no longer search and hope. I fight the Darkspawn, now. I am not too disappointed. I never really liked the idea of settling down in one place, caged by stone and timber, isolated from the forest. Were my people to rebuild Arlathan tomorrow, I think I would still wander. I would still see the stars from a different place every night, and leave nothing of myself behind in the morning."

"Would you not tire of wandering? Would you not want to settle down, in a _real_ home somewhere?"

"Reality is subjective," she informed the young woman sagely. "My home is nowhere and everywhere. I am caged only by my own mind, not by blocks of stone. Why would I want to live in a house, beneath a roof, feeling safe and welcome only within the confines of its walls? Your ideas are amusing, though I am sure mine are just as amusing to you."

"Why is it that unions between humans and elves bear no elven children?"

"I do not know. Perhaps the elders do. But if so, they do not say. This is why elves who chose human mates and bear human children are considered pariah amongst my people. They are usually outcasts, forced out of the clans."

"That seems... harsh," said Alistair.

"To you, perhaps. But we are a dying race. Our numbers are small; the Dalish are the descendants of the elven nobility of Arlathan; the blood of our Keepers is the purest, the closest to that of our ancestors. To weaken our blood by mixing with humans is considered... perhaps not a crime, but it is not considered right. We have a responsibility to keep the old blood strong, by pairing with Dalish from other clans. Even pairing with flat-ears who have joined us is considered bad taste for the highest of the Dalish. Perhaps that is why my mother and father's union was not looked upon fondly. My father was the Keeper of my clan for a very long time, and my mother was a skilled hunter from another clan. I believe my people thought that my father could do better, that he should pair with another Keeper. But they were in love, and nothing could keep them apart. Not even death."

"How did they die?" asked Leliana.

"They often met in secret, away from their respective clans. One day a group of shemlens and flat-ears chanced upon them. They killed my father, and injured my mother. She survived long enough to give birth to me, but was overcome by grief. Not long after I was born she wandered into the forest and was never seen again."

"That's so sad. You must have grown up hating humans."

"Not really. I didn't find out about it until just before I left. Had I known as a child, I may have hated humans, in which case I would likely not be here now. But the gods have put me on this path, so it is my responsibility to walk it, no matter where it leads. But what of your own parents? Do they still live in Orlais?"

"No, I never knew my father, and my mother died when I was a child. I don't remember much of her, other than the smell of her clothes. She used to put small white flowers amongst her clothes, so that they would smell nice. Andraste's Grace, she called them, though they were rare in Orlais."

"So Morrigan," said Alistair, "Parentally speaking, you're the most well-adjusted one of the group. I mean sure, your mother is a child-stealing maleficarum Witch of the Waste, but at least she's alive. You've beaten the average, so far."

"Well, don't I feel absolutely special," said Morrigan sarcastically.

"Kai?" said Leliana. "May I ask you question about your people?"

"Yes."

"You said that the Imperium destroyed your people's history and language, yet I have heard you using words of elvish, sometimes whole phrases. How do you know them, if your language was lost?"

"It was not lost entirely. Though my ancestors were forbidden to speak it, some still did, amongst themselves. They passed the language down verbally to their children, and so forth. Also, we have occasionally found relics of our past. Language carved into stone, that was harder to destroy than books which burnt, and has lasted hundreds of years."

"What did you say to the dwarves? I... I overheard you speaking to them," the young woman blushed.

"I said 'Andaran atish'an, durgen'len'; 'enter this place in peace, child of the stone'. As humans are 'shem'len' to us - the quickened children - dwarfs are 'durgen'len' - children of the stone."

"And we will be going to meet some of your people, for your treaties?"

"Yes. After we have been to Redcliffe."

"Oh, I can't wait! I have always wondered what it would be like, to travel the great dales and forests, to live freely. The other elves I have met have all been... pledged... to the service of Orlesian nobles."

"Slaves, you mean."

"No, not at all. Slavery is illegal in Orlais. The elves are servants, not slaves."

"Servants or slaves, they are still not free."

"But they are well-paid, and often have a higher quality of life than many humans. A well-trained elven servant is a treasure; they are dextrous and lithe, and pleasing to look at."

"Like a prized cattle?"

"No! I didn't mean... oh, please don't mind me, I should learn to think before I speak. You must think me terribly rude."

"I do not hold it against you. Your words are spoken with blind naïveté, not with maliciousness. I suspect most humans tell themselves that their flat-ear servants live good, happy lives, then they do not have to think of their serfs as real people, and can treat them any way they like."

"Oh, like you've even seen elven servants," Morrigan scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"I have seen the flat-ears who come to us, who run away from their masters. They are timid, afraid to speak their minds, jumping at their own shadows. Their spirits have often been broken and they think themselves worthless. That sort of treatment, inflicted upon one human by another, would be seen as cruel. Yet it can be inflicted upon elves, because they are not humans, and they will not stand up for themselves."

"Will you be talking all night?" Sten asked irritably. It was the first thing he had said anything since leaving Lothering.

"No, I believe we are done talking, now."

Apparently glad of the reprieve that Sten had provided, everyone hastened to their blankets. Kai took the wood pigeon off the spit and threw it up in the air towards Da'len. He jumped up and caught it, then settled down to eat.

Stripping out of her leather armour and stiff boots, she shivered in the cold night air. Her fur-lined blanket, when she unrolled it, was deliciously warm, made from two bear hides sown together. She settled inside them and pulled the furs tight around her, curling into the foetal position to preserve body heat. On the other side of the clearing she saw the dwarves settling down for the night themselves, and she smiled. Who would have thought that she, a Dalish, would be camping out with humans, dwarfs and a qunari? Her life had certainly taken a turn for the stranger since she and Tamlen had entered the ruins near her clan, and she suspected it was only going to get stranger still.


	10. Siege

Origins

_10. Siege_

Early morning fog rolled through the campsite, coating everything in a fine sheet of dew. Two robins called out, warning each other of their territorial boundaries, and a stoat slunk through the undergrowth, sniffing at the remains of a half-eaten wood pigeon.

Kai sat cross-legged on her sleeping fur, sipping green tea from the small wooden bowl that she had made when she was young and still learning all the skills required of her to become a productive member of her clan. For the first time in months she was alone... albeit with Sten, which really amounted to the same thing anyway.

Though she loved her clan, she also enjoyed privacy and seclusion, finding herself able to think more clearly when others weren't around. Amongst the other Dalish, sociable with each other by nature, if not with humans, she had been seen as something of an oddity. Scouts and hunters rarely travelled anywhere alone, instead preferring to move in pairs or small groups. That way if there was an ambush or if something went amiss, the chances of somebody returning to the clan to report it were greater.

The last time she had truly been alone was when she had hunted Darkspawn in the Southron Hills, on the edge of the Brecilian forest. Granted, she had had Alistair's company for a few hours when she saved his life, but other than that she had not spoken to or encountered any other people, Dalish, human or otherwise. He had given her much to think about, as she had travelled back to her people. She had always thought shemlen to be brutish and violent. Once every ten years, when all the clans gathered together for the great meeting, stories were told of encounters with shems, and the Dalish almost always came off the worse. But Alistair had not been violent or threatening. Ignorant of many things, yes, but in the same way an uneducated child was ignorant. No doubt there were many things she was ignorant of also, things that would seem commonplace to shems.

When she had returned to her clan she had told them of her journey, of the Darkspawn she had killed, of the human she had met and the others she had seen. Keeper Marethari had been suitably impressed at both her compassion in saving the human and her skill in defeating the Darkspawn. Not impressed enough to permit her to hunt and scout alone, of course, but since none of her friends... Tamlen, Fenarel, and others... had been allowed to hunt alone either, Kai had not been unduly bothered.

Since then she had been surrounded by her clan, apart from the occasions when she had hunted with her friends. Then, Duncan had taken her from her own kind and surrounded her with strange humans. Now, Leliana and Morrigan had gone to wash by the river and Alistair had gone to check if the road ahead was clear. It was nice to be alone with her thoughts.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked Sten, offering her bowl.

"No."

"As you wish."

When no other words were forthcoming, she turned her attention back to herself, back to her thoughts. She had woken in the middle of the night to a nightmare, a dream about a dragon leading an army of Darkspawn. Alistair, woken by her thrashing, had told her that what she dreamt was actually the Arch Demon of the Blight, communicating with the horde. Some older Wardens, he told her, claimed they could understand what it said, at least a little. It wasn't something that she was particularly looking forward to learning.

Alistair was the first to return to camp, and he stood gratefully beside the fire, warming his hands over it. As he had not mentioned the road ahead, she assumed that it was safe. Perhaps now, in the quiet of the morning, would be a good time to learn more about the Grey Wardens.

"Alistair, what other changes do Grey Wardens go through, besides the dreams?" she asked. He glanced at Sten for a moment, as if deciding how much he dared to say in front of the Qunari.

"It's ah... complicated. Can we speak alone for a moment?"

She nodded and followed him away from the camp, sorely missing the warmth of the fire. In an attempt to keep out the cold air, she pulled her cloak tight around her body. This was miserable weather for travelling.

"You should have been told this sooner," he said cautiously, "but with the battle and everything... there was just no time. Basically, you don't have to worry about dying of old age. You have thirty years to live, give or take."

"I see."

"The taint... it's, well, a death sentence. Eventually, your body won't be able cope with it. You won't feel anything now, but eventually the dreams will get worse. You won't be able to block them out, and that's when you'll know your time is coming. Most Wardens travel to Orzammar, to go out in one last battle. The dwarves respect us for it. Duncan... he'd started having the dreams again. He told me so in private, not long ago. Anyway, I'm sorry you had to be told like this. It's yet another thing that Duncan would have handled had he been here."

"I suppose none of this is easy for you, either."

"No. Though you're taking this quite well. When they told me about it, I felt angry, and a little hurt that I hadn't been warned about it first."

"We are all dying, Alistair. Maybe I won't even have thirty years... maybe I will die tomorrow, or next year. The only thing that is certain in life is death, but exactly when we leave this world and enter into the Beyond is the will of the gods."

"I'm glad you think so. Would you like more bad news, or should I wait until another time?"

"I would prefer to know what to expect; there is nothing worse than living in ignorance."

"Okay. I wouldn't even have thought of it if you hadn't mentioned to Leliana last night about the whole elves and humans having only human children thing. The thing is... you probably won't have any. Again, the taint, it does something to us. The chances of a Grey Warden fathering... or conceiving, in your case... a child are very, very slim. It would be a miracle, if it happened. I'm sorry."

"Thank you for telling me, but I was not planning on having children. Not within the next thirty years, anyway. This news does not really affect me."

"Good. Don't get me wrong, everything will still... work as it should. Up until you come towards the end of your life, you really shouldn't notice anything amiss, other than the dreams."

"Is there anything else I should know about?

"No, I think that's about it."

"Then we should see if the others have returned, and break camp. Morrigan said we will reach Redcliffe in a few hours."

"Oh, right. Redcliffe. Yes."

"Is something wrong?"

"Not... exactly. Though come to think of it, there is something else you should know about. It's not about the Grey Wardens, though. It's about me. And I probably should have told you days ago, but with one thing and another... well, now's as good a time as any, right?"

"Very well," she said, curious at his apprehensive tone of voice. It was quite unlike him.

"I told you about my mother, right? She was a serving girl at Redcliffe and died after giving birth to me? Then Arl Eamon took me in and raised me?"

"Yes, I do recall you mentioning it."

"Well, the reason he did that is because... my father was King Maric, which makes Cailan my half-brother, I suppose."

"Hmm. Now that you mention it, you do look a little like King Cailan. You have my sympathy for the loss of your brother."

"Oh, thanks. But we weren't a real family or anything. I doubt he even knew about me. I was pretty much kept a secret."

"Then why tell me of this?"

"Because I didn't want you going to Redcliffe not knowing about it. I wanted you to hear the truth from me, rather than picking up rumours in the castle... or anything like that."

"If you are brother to the King, does that not make you King now?"

"I hope not!" he said, aghast. "I'm the son of a commoner, and a Grey Warden to boot. If anybody has a claim to the throne, it's Eamon."

"I hope you do not expect me to bow to you."

"Of course not! That's one of the reasons I didn't tell you sooner."

"You feared I might prostrate myself upon the ground at your feet?"

"Well... not really. It's just that... once everybody finds out, they start treating me differently."

"I am not everybody."

"True, true. Apart from you, Duncan was the only other Grey Warden who knew about it. I think that's why he didn't let me take part in any of the battles, why he tried to keep me out of danger."

"You said that your mother died when you were young?" she asked, setting out back to the camp. "Then why did your father not raise you himself?"

"It would have damaged his reputation, if people had found out. Not to mention the queen wouldn't have been very happy."

"If he did not want his reputation damaging, perhaps he should have considered the full implications of his actions before laying with your mother. His actions were neither honest nor responsible. It speaks ill of your people that you would let such a man rule over you."

"Perhaps. Or maybe he just made a mistake. Everybody does, from time to time. Haven't you ever made a mistake before?"

"Of course, I have made a great many. But those in positions of power must guard their actions more carefully. They should not make rash decisions, or act without considering the implications, nor should they act solely for their own benefit. This is why your governing system is flawed."

"What do you mean?"

"Your rulers are picked because of their blood. But blood does not care for wisdom or responsibility. Your system would place a tyrant on your throne, simply because he was born to the right family. Amongst the Dalish, future Keepers are picked early in life and apprenticed to the current Keeper, so that they can learn magic, and how to be a wise and caring ruler. If any apprentice is found unworthy, because of a cruel streak, or a lack of wisdom and insight, another is chosen. The right to govern is chosen by the people, based on favourable character traits. It is not pre-determined by being born to one set of parents."

"Have you ever been an apprentice to a Keeper?"

"Of course not. I have no aptitude for magic." She glanced at him sideways as he walked beside her. "But if I did, would you have me dragged off to your Chantry?"

"No. Though I still have the abilities of a templar, I gave up that life when Duncan conscripted me. To be honest, it's a change for the better. Anyway, I just thought you should know about me before we arrive in Redcliffe. And again, I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I suppose I just hoped you'd like me for who I am."

"If I did not like you, you would most likely be dead."

"I guess that's one way of looking at it."

"You have no need to apologise. Everybody is entitled to their secrets. If you have any more, I am sure you will tell me when you feel the time is right, just as Sten will speak when he feels the time is right."

"Thank you. So... you're really not bothered?"

"Who you were born does not interest me," she assured him. "Who you are now, who you may become... perhaps."

"If only everybody else in the world thought the same," he said wryly. "But I'll let you get back to your tea, now. I know you're eager to be off."

She nodded, and returned to the fireside. Her tea had cooled, and she quickly swallowed the rest before it grew even colder. Sten was still sitting in the same place, silent as ever, and she wondered how truly different his people were to the Elvhenan, and to humans. He seemed to have his own strange sense of honour, but he did not show emotions, other than occasional impatience. Where were the rest of his people? Why was he here alone? She knew that answers to her questions would come slowly, over time. And so she put them aside for the moment, content to wait for him to open up on his own.

o - o - o - o - o

The cold wind gusted briefly and Alistair repressed the urge to shiver. He had learnt that if you ignored the cold, refused to acknowledge it, your body seemed to believe the lie. The cloak he had picked up in Lothering was a little too small for him and did not keep out the worst of the wind. Still, it could be worse. At least he was still alive.

He kept expecting Duncan to speak, to tell him what to do, where to go, to groan at his jokes and lecture him about the seriousness of being a Grey Warden. But that would never happen, now. Duncan would never speak again. He was gone, along with the rest of the Grey Wardens, and Alistair was alone. He had nobody to tell him what to do next, nobody to guide him onto the correct path or tell him if he was doing right. All the things he'd never had to think about before, because there were others to think and deal with it instead, he now had to worry over.

Was he doing right, in going to Arl Eamon? Would Eamon be happy to see him, or would he turn him away? Would the Arlessa demand that he leave? He hadn't seen her since he had been sent away some thirteen years ago. Would time have tempered her dislike for him?

Or should he be leading Kai instead to the Circle of Magi, or one of the other peoples that the Grey Wardens had treaties for? There was just no easy choice. He desperately wanted to go to Redcliffe, to see Arl Eamon's condition for himself, but he didn't know if it was the right choice. Maybe he was being selfish. No doubt Kai missed her clan, but she hadn't once asked to go to see them.

Since nobody had objected going to Redcliffe, he was content to think of his path as the correct one, for the moment. Once they got to Redcliffe they could always reassess their plans. Duncan had often said that the ability to fluidly change plans and strategies where necessary was the sign of a good Grey Warden. And Alistair desperately wanted to become a good Grey Warden.

He turned to survey the group of people following him. Though they walked behind him, he knew that Kai was the one truly leading. The others looked naturally to her to make decisions, which she did quickly and without all the self-doubt that he experienced. In a way, it was almost comforting to have her making decisions; it seemed that in her view, her way of doing things was either the best way, the right way, or the only way. She listened to the views and opinions of others, but once she'd made her mind up nothing could sway her.

Leliana was following close in his footsteps, her gaze turned towards the floor. She barely even seemed to notice the wind whipping her cloak around her. In fact, she looked more sad than cold, and he felt guilty for taking her away from her quiet life in the cloisters. Still, she _had_ been a bard in Orlais, so it wasn't as if she'd been sheltered by the Chantry her whole life. And if the horde was truly on the move, Lothering would not have remained safe for very long.

Behind Leliana was Morrigan. The witch was also affecting to ignore the cold, and she looked around alertly as she walked. She moved with an air of casual arrogance, as if truly afraid of nothing. Perhaps she had no reason to be afraid; perhaps she was truly powerful enough to not be threatened by anything that the road might conjure up. He suspected that her confidence was more of a facade. Even Flemeth was concerned about the Darkspawn, sure that they would overwhelm the whole of Thedas, including her home, if left unchecked. But why had Flemeth sent Morrigan along? Was it truly because the old woman thought her daughter could be of assistance? Or was it to act as a spy?

Sten followed Morrigan, seemingly unconcerned about the weather. Whether his didn't truly feel the cold, or whether he was pretending not to be bothered about it, Alistair couldn't guess. The Qunari were obviously made of sterner stuff than humans... Sten claimed he'd been inside the cage for twenty days without food or water, and might have lasted another week, had he not been freed. As the Qunari giant didn't seem predisposed to exaggeration, it was entirely possible that his people could live for longer without food or water than any human, dwarf or elf. No wonder they were so feared during their religious excursion from their homeland.

Bringing up the rear of the group, Kai had pulled her cloak close around herself. Her lips had something of a blue tinge to them, and he wondered if elves were more susceptible to the cold than humans. There was so much about her people that he didn't know. Almost everything he had heard was either rumour or Chantry lore, and the Chantry, he was coming to realise, were quite capable of making mistakes. Depending on who you asked within the religious organisation, the Dalish were either godless heathens or worshippers of vile and barbaric gods. Most agreed that the free elves were violent and blood-thirsty, possessed of great cunning if not intelligence.

Kai had already proved them wrong once, when she had saved his life at risk to her own. It was only after his joining ritual, when he had time to revisit in his mind the events leading up to his becoming a Grey Warden, that he truly came to appreciate what she had done for him. Seeing him drowning she had risked becoming a second victim of the river to swim out and pull him back to the shore. She had spoken so nonchalantly of it that he hadn't really considered it at the time, but there was no doubt it had been a difficult task for her. Her physique spoke of delicacy and endurance, but not of great strength. How she had managed to pull him to the opposite bank of the river to which he had fallen, weighed down in his heavy chain armour, he could not understand.

Then, when Darkspawn approached, putting her at further risk, she stayed to defend him. She could have left him to die - the Maker knew he was probably close to it, paralysed as he was - but instead she chose to help him again. Granted, she had been hunting Darkspawn anyway, but she could easily have left and tracked down others, or waited until they had killed him before attacking.

She had sacrificed again when she healed his injury with the potion that her Keeper had given her. No doubt she had been saving the healing potion for herself, in case of emergency. By using it on him she had risked herself in the event of future injury. Even Grey Warden recruits were not expected to hunt Darkspawn alone, away from their people. They were taken out with a veteran, who could help them, guide them and tend their injuries if necessary. Finding himself curious about what other strange rituals the Dalish might practice, he dropped back to speak to her.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" he said, speaking loudly over the wind.

"You just did."

"Ha. You're right. Well, do you mind if I ask you a couple more?"

"No, I do not mind, though I cannot guarantee answers."

"I was just wondering if all of your warriors go through the same thing that you did."

"You mean, do all warriors run off into the Southron Hills to rescue humans from rivers and hunt Darkspawn by twilight? No. Most of our hunters must make a kill to be considered worthy of protecting the clan. Usually it is simply a deer or a boar, or an animal whose meat and fur that is of use to us, or a predator that is a risk to the clan's safety."

"So... why did you hunt Darkspawn if you could just kill a deer?"

"It would have been no challenge."

"And that's why you went off alone to hunt Darkspawn?"

"Not... entirely," she said, looking somewhat sheepish. "A hunter is not considered an adult until he or she has made their first kill of a large creature. Even though I had been hunting small things like birds and rabbits for some time, the Keeper said that I was too young and inexperienced to join an organised hunt of a larger animal. She said that my presence might risk the safety of other hunters.

"Naturally, I was did not listen. I was convinced that I was the equal of any hunter in the clan, and that the Keeper was sheltering me by not allowing me to hunt. I told her that if my presence was endangering the others, then I would hunt alone, then I would be no danger to anybody other than myself. Then I left, and swore to her that I would not return until I had killed three of the greatest threat our clan would ever face; the Darkspawn. And that when that day came, I would no longer be a child."

"Was it difficult going back? I know that when you fall out with someone it can be hard to speak to them again, to admit your mistakes."

"I had no mistakes to admit. By my actions I proved the Keeper wrong," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"How long had you been hunting the Darkspawn for?"

"Many days. I tracked the Darkspawn as best I could, but they quickly disappeared back underground. I was loathe to follow them beneath the earth... it would most likely have led to an ambush."

"Was it lonely for you? Being on your own, with nobody to help you, nobody to talk to?"

"No. At first my anger fuelled me and kept me going. Then, when I had calmed down, I began to enjoy having time to myself. I woke when I chose, slept when I chose, ate when I was hungry, and was beholden to no other. It was a liberating experience. Because I was reliant on myself, I felt more in touch with my surroundings, became more aware of my body and learnt to know my mind better."

"You know, when you saved me, I thought you were a beautiful agent of the Maker come to guide me to His realm."

"Yes, I suspected you were delirious with pain."

"Actually, I didn't feel any pain at all."

"So you were simply delirious?"

"Maybe. I also wanted to ask you... why did you decide to save my life? You could have let me drown."

"To the Dalish, life is precious. When I saw you fall, I did not know you were a shem. You could have been an elf, or a dwarf. All I knew was that you were not Darkspawn, and therefore you were not my quarry, nor were you my enemy. I acted on instinct; I could not sit by and watch somebody die without trying to save their life."

"But after you dragged me out, and the Darkspawn came, you could have let them have me. What's one less human in the world, right?"

"To be honest, I was curious. I had never seen one of your kind before. Perhaps a more experienced hunter would have left you to die, but I saw it as an opportunity to learn more about your people."

"And what did you find out?"

"That you are not as bad as I was told." He laughed at her sentiment, and she looked at him quizzically.

"I was just thinking the same thing myself, actually."

"Oh?"

"The Chantry tells us that the Dalish are all violent and bloodthirsty and such."

"I suppose it makes it easier for your people to fear and hate us if we are seen that way."

"Hey, you said yourself that even your elders tell you untrue stories about us humans," he said defensively.

"No, I said that _you_ are not as bad as I was told. Before I was made ill by the Tevinter mirror, Tamlen and I were hunting not far from our camp. We came across three shemlen men. Tamlen did not want to let them go; he said they would bring others. But I talked him into being lenient, into allowing the men to live. I thought that they might be like you. I thought they might have honour. More fool me. Even as I left my clan, they were preparing to head north, fleeing from a mob that had been raised by the men we allowed to live. It hardly reaffirmed my trust in humanity."

"Well, I'm glad that you trust me."

"What makes you think that I do?"

"You haven't tried to kill me yet. That was my first indication."

"Perhaps I am merely biding my time, waiting for you to let your guard down before striking?"

"Ah, but now I know to expect it! Now I'll never let my guard down. I'm afraid you just tipped your hand."

"Tipped... my hand?" she asked, a confused look on her face.

"It's a gambling phrase. It means that you've shown me what you're planning."

"Now if only we can get Loghain to do the same. I already tire of this bounty on my head. No doubt it will make our tasks much more difficult."

"Don't worry. Arl Eamon will make everything right. You'll see." On the inside, he hoped he was right, that he wasn't letting everybody down.

o - o - o - o - o

Kai stood atop the hillside, looking down at Redcliffe. Below, winding steps had been cut into the side of the hill, providing access down to the town. Much larger than Lothering - and more prosperous, by the looks of it - Redcliffe seemed oddly quiet. Was it normal for shemlen towns to be so silent at midday? Where were all the people? In the centre of the town she saw perhaps two or three tiny figures, but surely there should be more?

On the opposite side of the valley stood Redcliffe Castle, looming ominously over the village. To Kai it was a monstrosity of stone and slate; how anybody could stand living within its shadow she did not know.

"At least there are no refugees," said Morrigan, following her gaze down to the town.

"Are you looking forward to returning home, Alistair?" Kai asked.

"Yes... and no. I haven't been back in years. To be honest, I haven't really thought of it as home since I was a child. But I suppose standing around up here talking about it won't get us there any faster."

He set off down the steps and she fell into line behind him. Behind her came Da'len, with Leliana keeping a respectable distance away from the hound. Morrigan followed her and last came Sten, silent as ever. The Qunari was so large that he made even Alistair seem small in comparison; he dwarfed Morrigan and Leliana, and made Kai herself look like a child's toy.

There was something wrong with the town, Kai began to realise. The flat-ears who joined the Dalish had told stories of human settlements... hamlets, villages, towns and cities. According to them, even cities were home to wildlife; birds and rodents and feral cats. Villages and some towns were often quite abundant in their variety of animals present. But now, no birds sang from the trees. The silence that surrounded the settlement here was pervasive and unnatural. Kai shivered, but not because of the cold.

When Alistair led them around a bend she noticed a small stone bridge arching over a gushing mountain river. Upon the bridge stood a shemlen man, a bow in his hands and a quiver at his hip. Her first instinct was to reach for her weapons, but when the others made no such movements she decided following their lead would be wiser. After all, they were more used to dealing with shems than she was. At least, Alistair and Leliana were.

In the end, her caution was unnecessary; the shemlen man stood down his weapon and greeted them in a manner that, if not friendly, at least wasn't hostile.

"You... you're from the outside?" the man asked. He didn't seem to believe his eyes. Strange, though she had observed that often, shemlens did not seem capable of believing the sights their eyes showed them. Why? Did they think their eyes might lie? "Thank the Maker! It's been over a tenday since we've seen anyone else. Have you come to help? Did the Bann's messages get through?"

"Come to help Arl Eamon?" said Alistiar. "Yes, we've heard about his illness."

"Then... you don't know what else has happened?"

"Something other than illness has happened here?" asked Kai, stepping forward to address the man directly. Why couldn't shemlens just say outright what they meant? Why did they have to play with their words like a cat playing with a mouse?

"Redcliffe is besieged by monsters that come every night from the castle. It's all Bann Teagan's been able to do to hold us together and defend against them, but I don't think we can last another night."

"Bann Teagan?" said Alistair. "The Arl's brother? He's here?"

"Yes, he arrived on the night of the first attack. We'd all be dead if it wasn't for him. He organised our defences and fought by our sides. I should take you to see him... he'll want to speak to you immediately, armed as you are."

"Please lead the way," said Alistair, gesturing to the road. The shem nodded, and began the march down the steps. Kai followed, curious about the monsters which plagued the village. Were they Darkspawn? If so, what were they doing in the castle? Regardless of what they were, she suspected her weapons would be drinking a lot more blood before the next day dawned.

o - o - o - o - o

The corridors of the Tower of Magi, situated in the middle of Lake Calenhad, were silent, and for all the wrong reasons. Tables and chairs had been overturned. Beds had been left unmade, meals abandoned mid-way, chests hastily looted for anything useful. And the blood... the blood was everywhere. It pooled on the floor, making the marble tiles slippery underfoot. It coated the walls, spray patterns of deep red across the grey stone. The patterns themselves were beautiful, as if somebody had lovingly and painstakingly painted them, paying great attention to detail. But the medium was the blood of innocent men, women and children, and this act had been committed by a great evil, an evil second only to the Darkspawn which gathered in the south.

Wynne carefully stepped around the puddles of blood on the floor, trying not to see the bodies that were their source. At first, as she made her way through the tower, she had catalogued every body she had come across, recording their names on a scrap of paper so that she could arrange for them to be buried and mourned properly. Now, she didn't bother; a list of the survivors would be far shorter.

The bodies hurt her, so, so much. It pained her to see their faces; the faces of the people she once knew. Some of them she had taught herself. Some had been her apprentices. Now they were nothing but lifeless shells, bent and twisted in horror, their blood drained to fuel the dark rituals of her enemy. And it was not just her companions and students that had been hunted; templars, too, had been caught up in the slaughter. All of their training, all of their arms and armour, had done them no good here. They were trained to hunt down rogue mages; apostates who practised blood magic or made deals with demons, and abominations and malificarum, the apostates who had become enslaved to Fade-demons. The templars, where faced with a whole cadre of blood mages, had been almost as defenceless as the true magi.

Unlike most mages, she did not fear or resent the templar guardians. Instead, she considered them a necessity, though she did not approve of the Chantry's methods of controlling them. Only the King could command an army, or so the law went. So the Chantry did not call their templars an army, though in truth that's what they were, and they controlled their warriors by giving them lyrium. In large amounts, lyrium was poison, and only Dwarves with their natural resistance to magic could handle pure, raw lyrium. But diluted into potions, lyrium was valuable; it allowed a mage to recover his or her magical strength instantly. The Chantry's use of lyrium was less benevolent; they gave it to their templars, augmenting their natural spell-disrupting abilities. But lyrium was a double-edged sword; the templars quickly became addicted, and after more than a couple of days without it they fell into withdrawal. Sometimes the withdrawal could be deadly.

A small body lay before her, and she closed her eyes, stepping around it. The child was only eight years old. He had been brought to the tower three weeks earlier after his parents had discovered his natural affinity for magic. They had thought that they were doing right by their son. They thought that without the Circle's help, their son would become an abomination, that he would be Tranquilled or slain by the templars. They thought that they were keeping him safe by sending him here. Adain... his name was Adain. Or at least, it _had_ been. Now somebody would have to tell his parents that their son was dead. If there was even anybody left to deliver the news. Even if there was, there would be no body to bring home to cremate, no soul to send to the afterlife to dwell with the Maker. Either the enemy would destroy everything in the tower, or... or... the templars would come, with their Rite of Annulment. They would destroy the phylactery of every mage tied to the Circle, ending the threat to Ferelden. Then they would raze the Tower to ashes.

How could this be happening _now_ of all times? She was getting too old for this. This, and before it, Ostagar... She closed her eyes, stopping to lean against a wall in the corridor. _Ostagar_. For as long as she lived she would never forget Ostagar. It was as if the hells themselves had opened up and spewed forth the Darkspawn. From her vantage point above the battlefield she had seen everything. She saw the enemy's charge. She saw King Cailan's forces rushing out to meet them; the flight of arrows, the charge of the Mabari, and then the men, running to their deaths. She had seen the ogres throwing boulders at the bridge; she had seen, a short time later, the beacon atop the Tower of Ishal light up, a beacon of hope in the darkness. The Grey Wardens, at least, had been true to their word. They had done their job.

But then... chaos had followed. Teyrn Loghain's forces had retreated, condemning all upon the battle field to death. She had seen the Darkspawn pushing ever forward, and seen Ferelden's forces cut down. She had seen the King, his golden armour making him stand out on the field, picked up and shaken like a ragdoll by a huge ogre. She had seen Cailan crushed and flung aside; one moment a King, the next a corpse. She had seen the beginning of the end, and then... nothing. The last thing she recalled was a huge boulder hurtling towards the wooden platform upon which she and the other half-dozen magi had been standing. The platform had collapsed, and she had been plunged into darkness.

It was probably what had saved her life. Had they known she was still alive, the Darkspawn would undoubtedly have killed her. Unconscious, appearing dead, they had passed her by. When she had awoken the horde had moved on, only crows and jackals were left on the battlefield. Of the mages, all were dead, except Uldred, who was missing. At the time she had thought that the Darkspawn had taken him. It was only when she returned, after her slow limping journey north, that she learnt the truth; Uldred had survived Ostagar and returned the day before her. And apparently he had a lot to say. From the rumours that she'd heard, not long before the attack, Uldred was speaking in favour of Teyrn Loghain, claiming Cailan's naïveté had cost Ferelden the battle, that with Loghain as regent, surely the Darkspawn would be defeated once and for all. Perhaps Uldred was mad with grief. Perhaps he truly believed what he was saying. She might never get to find out.

There was a scream from the common room further down the corridor, and it chilled her to the bone. Hitching up her skirt she set out at a sprint, her staff weapon in her right hand. It had thankfully survived the trials of Ostagar, and as she panted her way down the corridor, feeling the arthritis in her old bones begin to flare up again, she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker that she had been spared so far, so that she might try to salvage what little was left of the Circle.

Inside the common room she saw a young mage backing away from a large, fire-wreathed demon. Spells flew from the young woman's hands, but the demon shrugged them off apparently unconcerned by the magical assault.

"Petra!" Wynne shouted when she recognised the young mage. With her joints complaining she hurried to the side of the woman and began casting a spell of her own, pushing Petra away with her free hand. "Go! Run!" she instructed, and thankfully Petra obeyed, hurrying from the room. As the demon edged slowly forward, Wynne cast a magical shield around herself to absorb incoming damage. Then she began casting spells like she had never cast them before; they flew fast from the ends of her fingers, and at the same time she channelled magic through her staff, sending bolts of arcane magic hurtling towards the demon. It screamed in pain as the magical fire burnt it, and hurried its advance. Desperately, Wynne allowed more magic to flood into her body, channelling at a rate she had never done before, prepared to sacrifice everything to defend one of her former apprentices.

As the demon fell, so did Wynne. Drawing breath hurt too much, and she sank to the floor, barely even noticing the pool of blood that she lay in. Her heart ached so much, a combination of exhaustion and horror at what had happened to her home. As she took one last labouring breath, her heart ceased beating.


	11. The Fight

Origins

_11. The Fight_

Kai looked around as the shemlen man led her group down into the village. There were more townspeople, down here, and they had set up barricades around one building - the Chantry, she realised. It was into this building that their guide led them. Inside, women and the elderly conversed in quiet whispers while a priestess led a group of children in prayer. At the far end of the hall a man armed with a sword and wearing thick leather armour was instructing another man in the defences of the town.

"Bann Teagan," said their guide. The armed man turned his attention to their group and ran an assessing eye over them. "These people came from the Imperial Road, Bann Teagan."

"Thank you... Tomas, isn't it? You can return to the bridge whilst I speak to them. Good work."

"I remember you, Bann Teagan," said Alistair, taking a step forward. "Though last time we met I was a small boy... and covered in mud."

"Alistair?" said the Bann. "By Andraste's mercy, I thought you had been killed at Ostagar with the other Grey Wardens. I am glad to see you well."

"Then you do not believe Loghain's lies about the Grey Wardens betraying the King?" Kai asked, wanting to ascertain his allegiances before dealing with him.

"No. I was in Denerim when Loghain arrived back from Ostagar. He's declared himself Queen Anora's regent. I believe he's gone mad. I came here straight away, to inform Eamon, only to find... well, things are dire."

"What exactly has been going on, Bann Teagan?" Alistair asked. "We heard from Ser Donall in Lothering that Arl Eamon has fallen ill, but he mentioned nothing of monsters."

"This is a somewhat more recent development. Each night, hordes of undead descend from the Castle and attack the village. Nobody at the Castle acknowledges my hails... I don't even know if there's anybody left up there."

"Ah, the undead," said Morrigan knowingly. "No doubt some sort of necromantic arts at work."

"What of the knights?" asked Alistair.

"Ser Perth has returned, along with a few others. He is leading them in the defences. But I don't know how much longer we can last. Alistair, I hate to ask this of you, but we desperately need your help tonight. Darkness is only a few hours away, and we have to fortify the Chantry before then. This is where Ser Perth has put all those who can not fight. We have to defend them at all costs."

"It's not... entirely... my call, Bann Teagan," Alistair said cautiously.

"We will help," Kai reassured the Bann. "The undead are an abomination to my people as well. We abhor them, and fight them when we can."

"Thank you. I've put the mayor in charge of the defences outside. You can speak to him about anything that needs doing. Or maybe Ser Perth could use your help. Either way, I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

"Why didn't you evacuate the town when all of this trouble started?" Leliana asked.

"These people have nowhere to go. Between the Darkspawn on the move and Teyrn Loghain's men harassing the Bannorn into compliance, it would be almost as dangerous for them to go as to stay. The only place we might have evacuated to is the Castle, but that's where all the trouble is coming from."

"Amongst the Qunari, even the women and children would pick up a weapon to defend themselves," Sten said stonily.

"And it may yet come to that. But I would prefer to keep the fighting as far from the Chantry as possible."

"We should act swiftly," said Kai, stroking the hilt of her Dar'Misaan. "If these creatures come with the night, we must be ready before then."

o - o - o - o - o

"Have you ever fought the undead before?" Leliana asked Kai as they worked together to strengthen a barricade.

"Yes, once. They were infesting old ruins near a place where my people had erected their aravels."

"Do your people believe as we do, that the undead are caused by spirits from the Fade passing through to this world in places where the Veil has thinned, and taken control of bodies?"

"Yes, although we call the Fade 'the Beyond', and some can enter it at will, remaining conscious of their actions while there."

"Really? How do they do that?"

"Some of the Keepers have mastered their own minds to the point where they can enter the Beyond and keep their awareness of themselves. There are also combinations of herbs which can be used by one undertaking a vision quest, which give the same results."

"What is it like, in the Fade?"

"It is said to be a place where the edges between what is real and what is not are blurred, so that the two become almost indistinguishable. A place of beauty, formed by the imaginations of those who dream within it. But also a place of terrible peril, where nightmares stalk the unwary, and men trap themselves within cages of their own fear. It is not a place where most people would willingly enter."

"I've heard stories told by magi about the Fade and the spirits that exist within it," said Leliana, a far-away look in her eyes. "They say that spirits both dead and unborn live there, preyed upon by demons who want nothing more than to live, experiencing life through the senses of a mortal. Whenever a babe is born there's a risk that one of those demons will latch on to a departing soul, inhabiting the body of the child and corrupting its spirit. Conversely, when a person dies, their spirit returns to the Fade and the Veil is temporarily weakened around their body. Another spirit or a demon can sneak through and take control of the body... or even a nearby person or beast. It's said that the funereal custom of burning the dead came about after an influx of spirits breaking through the Veil. Now, any that break through don't have a body to live in for long."

"My people do not burn our dead. We bury them."

"Oh? What is the reason behind that, might I ask?"

"The land gives us life. When we die, we are returned to it, so that the cycle of life is complete."

"I like that idea. I suppose in a way it's comforting to think that the person you have lost might still be around you, connected to you through the land."

"Have you ever fought the undead before?"

"No, I grew up mostly in cities... you don't get many undead there."

"What is it like, in Orlais? Is it much like Ferelden?"

"Oh no, it is much different! By comparison, Ferelden is wild and untamed. And cold - quite a bit colder than Orlais, especially in winter. Orlesian weather is much milder. And the cities are beautiful, especially Val Royeaux. There is so much music and light. The architecture is beautiful, elegant and fine, not all blocky and defensive, like it is here in Ferelden. What are the Dales like?"

"Very... forested. Human settlements are few and far between... they tend to live only on the edges of the Dales. My people do not build towns and cities. We live nomadically in our aravels. When danger comes we prefer to melt into the shadows, to be hidden by the forests, though we will fight if pushed. I think this barrier is as sturdy as it's ever going to be. I am going to find Sten. Please help Morrigan to reinforce the rest of the defences."

Without waiting for a response she wandered towards the houses on the docks, her head swivelling from side to side like a seagull looking for limpets. After speaking to the Mayor she had sent both Alistair and Sten to survey the village and assess its defensibility. Alistair's impressions were important because this was the town where he had grown up and his knowledge of it might prove useful during the battle. Sten, she knew, had plenty of combat experience, though he claimed that no two battlefields were the same. Still, as a veteran warrior, his insight could prove invaluable. Especially since he saw with the eyes of a stranger, and might miss things that she and Alistair could overlook.

When she caught sight of Sten exiting a house, she lengthened her pace. The gods only knew what he had been doing in there... she hoped he hadn't slaughtered anybody else.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"The mayor mentioned a dwarf who was well-versed in combat but would not fight. I have just convinced him to join the battle."

"Does he now require medical attention?" she asked sceptically.

"The only thing wounded is his pride."

"I am glad to hear it. What is your opinion of the defences?"

"They would not halt an army of my people... though they may slow the undead, providing they come only from the Castle, and not from, say, the sea."

"Can you make any further recommendations?"

"Other than arming the women and children so that they may defend themselves, no."

"Thank you. Have you seen Alistair?"

"He spoke with the blacksmith, then went back up the hill to speak to the knights."

"Will you return to the mayor and continue with the barricades?"

"If I must."

As she ascended the steps to the windmill where the knights were planning their own tactics, sounds from the town rose to her ears; the mayor issuing orders, people fixing the wooden barricades, the ring of a hammer on an anvil as the blacksmith began his work. Redcliffe was much livelier than when she had arrived.

Outside the windmill that slowly turned under the power of the falling river, Alistair and Ser Perth were deep in conversation. The rest of the knights were milling around, eating what would no doubt be, for some of them, the last meal they ever ate. When Alistair caught sight of her he waved to her, gesturing for her to join him in conversation with the knight.

"I was just telling Ser Perth about some barrels of oil that I found in one of the stores. He thinks we can use the oil against the undead," he said.

"I wish I'd known about it last night," said Ser Perth. "It might have saved a few lives."

"Tell her what you told me, about the Arlessa."

"It's just rumour, most likely nothing to it," said Ser Perth hesitantly. "Arlessa Isolde had hired a mage to tutor her son, Connor. A few gossips claimed they were having an affair, and that the Arlessa poisoned her husband so she could be with the man she hired. Like I said, most likely unfounded gossip."

"What is your opinion, Ser Perth?" she asked.

"I don't know. The Arlessa was worried sick about Arl Eamon... that's why she sent us on our quest to fine the Urn of Sacred Ashes. She's a very devout woman, the Arlessa. The mage had only been there a few days before the Arl became ill. I never saw them behaving... inappropriately, if that's what you mean."

"We must focus on one challenge at a time," she said, turning to look at the castle sitting ominously over the village, like an owl ready to swoop down on an unsuspecting mouse. Well, the owl was about to discover that the mouse was prepared; and it had weapons to fight back. "We will turn our attention to Redcliffe Castle when we have made it through the night."

"I hope we do," said Perth doubtfully.

"I will not insult you by telling you that all will be well. You have fought these things before and you have seen them kill. But you have also survived thus far; there is no reason to doubt that you will not survive another night. The smith is repairing the armour of the militia. You have oil to employ as a weapon against your foe. The durgen'len warrior, Dwyn, has agreed to fight by your side. And now you have Grey Wardens to aid you as well."

"Yes, of course. I should count my blessings. Our position is much more favourable now than it was last night."

"Alistair, we should return to the mayor to continue working on the defences of the village."

She made her way slowly down the steps, her cloak brushing the top of each step as she descended. What would her people think if they could see her now, wandering amongst the shems, fighting to protect them? Would they think she was crazy, afflicted by some illness, or would they be proud of her actions?

Though she knew she would always be Dalish, she was slowly coming to think of herself as something else. Something more than Dalish. She was a Grey Warden now, and that meant defending the land against the Blight. It meant forming allegiances and making allies. It was something her people had never been good at.

The Dalish were reclusive by nature, preferring to avoid contact with outsiders. The events of her life hadn't really prepared her that well for her current task. She struggled to understand humans, to make sense of their words and their actions. Upon meeting another Dalish she would know immediately that she could claim some sort of kinship with him. Two Dalish had much in common; they were borne of the same ancestors, they lived to protect their way of life, they travelled to search for their lost history. They understood each other's hardships and customs. Humans, on the other hand, were just so... _different_.

She was beginning to realise that if she was going to have to unite the humans of Ferelden with the elves and the dwarves, she would have to learn something about them. She would have to discover their customs, their ways. She would have to understand their words and the reasoning behind their actions. Already she had three human companions she could learn much from... though perhaps it was best not to include Morrigan under the label of 'human'.

But what if learning about humans meant becoming more like them? What if it caused her to lose sight of who she was? What if it made her less Dalish? Losing her sense of identity was the last thing that she wanted... yet was she willing to give up who she was if it increased her chances of defeating the Blight? She had already given her life to the Grey Wardens... was she ready to give her _self_?

"What is your assessment of the village defences?" she asked Alistair, trying to put her thoughts aside to concentrate on more important matters.

"They're about as secure as they can be, given the circumstances. Everyone who's able will be fighting, and everybody who isn't able will be in the Chantry with Bann Teagan. I'd feel better with another dozen knights at our back, but if wishes were horses I'd have a cavalary."

"If wishes were horses... that is a human expression, isn't it?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," she said, and continued down the path in thoughtful silence.

Back in the town centre, work was well underway. The barriers around the Chantry had been fortified and two knights were pouring oil into smaller buckets that could be used to dip arrows into. Several torches had been positioned around the defences to give the defenders light to see by, and the militia were lined up outside the smithy as from inside the sound of a hammer could be heard ringing against an anvil.

"We will fight with the knights, to stem the flow of undead coming from the Castle at the top of the path," she told her companions as they gathered around her. "Until then, do whatever you think needs to be done. We will meet up on the path below the windmill. And, if the gods are smiling upon us, we will see the morning sun."

o - o - o - o - o

Kai looked up at the stars twinkling in the deep blackness of the night sky. The grey fog of the morning had eventually given way to clearer weather, and now the air was crisp, biting at her flesh. Anticipating combat she had doffed her cloak, knowing that it would only hinder her in battle. As she stood, waiting, she made a point of _not_ moving closer to one of the small fires.

"What do you think they are?" Leliana asked, following her gaze to the sky above.

"Stars."

"Yes, of course. But what I mean is... what do you think they really _are_?"

"I do not know, nor do I see why it matters. They are up there and I am down here. They do not affect me; they do nothing but sit in the sky twinkling. Knowing what they are makes no difference to my life, unless they wish to come down and help me against the Blight." Leliana looked saddened by her reply, and Kai recalled her earlier musings about understanding humans better. Perhaps this was a good place to start. "What do _you_ think they are?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't know. I have heard a story about stars, though."

"Tell me this story. Please," she added, recalling that humans liked pleasantries.

"There was once a beautiful woman called Alindra who cared for nobody but herself. Her father introduced her to many rich and handsome nobles, begging her to choose a suitor from amongst them. But she declined, because she did not love them.

"One morning she sat singing beside her bedroom window, and was spied by a soldier passing by. The moment he heard her beautiful voice he fell in love with her instantly, and she fell in love with him. She told her father of her desire to marry, but he was furious; the soldier was a commoner, not noble-born. As punishment, he locked her high within a tower so that they could never see each other.

"Eventually, word reached her that her beloved had died, and Alindra was heartbroken. She begged the gods for help, and so moved were they by her speech that they lifted her up into the sky, turning her into a beautiful star. They took the soul of her love, too, and carried him into the sky, placing him within the same constellation. They say that the small band of stars between the two are Alindra's tears, and when she has cried enough she will be reunited with her lover."

"You believe that the stars are actually people, taken into the sky by one or more gods?"

"It's just one possibility, isn't it? If mages of the Tevinter could enter the Maker's Golden City, then why shouldn't it be possible that stars are the souls of people, cast eternally into the sky by gods?"

"I see movement, Warden," said Ser Perth. He pointed to the castle above the town. Kai narrowed her eyes against the cold breeze, and saw fog rolling down from the front door of the castle. Vague forms were moving inside it, picking up speed as they descended towards the defences.

Calmly, because a warrior could not allow fear to creep into her heart, she put two oil-dipped arrows onto her bow, then passed them in front of the nearby fire. They caught alight, blazing merrily on her bow as she waited for her enemy to come within her sight. Two arrows were far less accurate than one, but she did not need accuracy; the knights had drenched the path with oil, which would spring up as a wall of fire once alight. Two of the knights had bows of their own, and Leliana had given her crossbow bolts the same treatment as the arrows. Everybody else, save Morrigan, had their swords in hand, ready to engage anything that made it through the fire.

When the first shambling form appeared, Kai let her arrows fly. They both reached their target, and a wall of fire erupted across the breadth of the road. Whether the undead creatures didn't care about the fire, or whether they simply didn't realise it was there, she did not know, but they came on regardless, passing through the fire with their skin - what little of it was left - alight.

She had only fought the undead once before, with Tamlen. This time there were far more of them, but she also had more allies. Sten and Alistair, along with Ser Perth and a couple of his knights, bore the brunt of the assault; Alistair and the knights effectively using their shields as a second weapon to knock over their opponents, while Sten merely swung his large two-handed sword in an arc, cleaving anything that tried to pass. In the thick of the fighting, Da'len was growling and biting his enemies, dragging them to the floor and mauling them.

Beside Kai, the other knights were firing arrows at undead enemies further up the path, well away from the fighters. Their bows were longer and heavier than hers; they took longer to draw, but had more power, a trade-off that may have worked in their favour against armoured opponents but did little against creatures that felt no pain. Not that her own attacks were much more effective. Though she was able to get off more shots than the knights, and her accuracy was better, the undead barely seemed to notice the arrows bristling from their bodies. Nor did they pay any attention to the occasional bolts that Leliana shot into them with her light crossbow. This would, Kai was quickly coming to realise, end in an all-out melee fight.

Before long the defenders were swamped with attackers. Sten's sword became less effective as they move inside his defences. The knights began using their shields defensively more often than they did offensively. Though Morrigan let bolts of magical energy fly from her fingertips, they seemed to do little except irritate then creatures. No doubt any more powerful spell would only risk harming the fighters.

When the first zombie or skeleton - she didn't really know the difference - single-mindedly broke through the defences and continued on the path towards the town, Kai put down her bow and drew her weapons, her Dar'Misaan - always a 'he' - sliding effortlessly from the sheath on her left hip into her right hand, whilst the smaller, feminine Dar'Misu - the companion blade - she held softly in her left.

It was a fault amongst newer fighters to grip their weapons too tightly, as if afraid they might fly out of their hands. A tight grip might work for an axe or a broadsword, which needed to be powerfully swung to cause maximum damage, but her single-edged blades were light and sharp, designed for slicing rather than chopping. They caused the most damage when used with applied pressure; the touch on the weapons needed to be soft and slow whilst moving, only firming and speeding up on the cut itself.

The zombie seemed not to see her, at first. It was only when she stepped directly into its path that she caught its attention. The hand-axe it carried was raised above its head long before it reached her, and she brought her Dar'Misaan up along a diagonal line, slicing across the creature's body. When the next skeleton followed she parried the attack from its sword, allowing her blade to swing over her shoulder, then brought it down along the same diagonal line that it had gone up, her cut entering the creature's body at its collarbone and leaving beneath its floating ribs.

Leliana and the knights had also drawn their hand-weapons, and were engaging enemies of their own. Risking a glance at the castle, she noted that the flow of undead leaving it had stopped; now they were contained entirely within the small pass which was quickly becoming a grim scene of fiery death.

One of the knights fell, an axe buried deep in his neck. Three zombies ran past his falling corpse, their sights set on Redcliffe town. Moving to intercept them, Kai sliced through the weapon-hand arm of one of her foes, and it fell to the floor. The second she gutted with her Dar'Misu as she pulled her Dar'Misaan around for a killing blow. But the third undead fiend was faster than its two companions had been; it brought its sword in a low arc, aiming for her stomach. Seeing the impending attack just in time to dodge it, she stepped back, and tripped over the body of the first corpse she had killed. She fell backwards and hit the ground sharply, the wind knocked from her lungs. Her attacker raised it sword above her chest, its face and eyes empty, not even enjoying the kill. As it swung its weapon down towards her heart, a large, snarling bundle of grey fur leapt from behind her, knocking the zombie to the floor with the weight and momentum of its body.

Gasping for breath, Kai pushed herself to her feet and turned her attention to the undead creature she had gutted but not killed; the obstacle blocking it removed, it had resumed its journey toward the village. She set out at a sprint and beheaded it from behind, then kicked it to the floor to ensure it would never take another step. When she turned back, she found the heated battle finally beginning to cool. There were only a few undead left, and these the knights finished off, angered to almost a frenzy by the loss of their fallen comrade.

She had not realised, during her adrenaline-fuelled sprint, that she had twisted her ankle as she had fallen, and she had to limp back up the path, walking around the bodies that littered the floor. When she reached the wolf that had just finished mauling her almost-killer, it turned and trotted to her, rubbing its shoulders cat-like against her legs.

"Thank you, my friend," she said gratefully, stroking the broad tawny head.

"Your ah... wolf... is very large," said Leliana, watching the wild canine warily. The wolf whined.

"Yes, you may go," she said, and it slunk into the shadows, disappearing into the trees that marked the edge of the forest.

"I take it that's Ar'la," said Alistair. He, like the others, was soaked in foul-smelling blood.

"And here you were afraid that the only other Grey Warden in Ferelden might have a friend other than you," said Morrigan.

"How is your ankle? Does it hurt?" Leliana asked. Kai experimentally put her foot down, shifting some of her weight to it.

"A little, but I do not think it is sprained."

"Warden!" called a panicked voice from further down the path. In the moonlight she made out the shape of one of Redcliffe's defenders. "Warden, there are undead in the town!"

"Stay here and guard this path," she instructed Ser Perth, turning away from him before he could object. "Everybody else... get down to the town as fast as you can. We have to keep our foe from reaching the Chantry."

o - o - o - o - o

The night was still, the air thick with smoke from the fires. Bodies littered the floor, both outside the wooden palisade and inside it. Their attackers had come in waves, wearing them down gradually over the course of the night. Casualties had been taken by the townsfolk, and there had been three fatalities. The bodies of three militiamen were somewhere in the heap of undead corpses.

Kai was sitting on an upturned wooden crate, leaning against Da'len for warmth. Leliana was applying a bandage to her ankle; although she had switched to using her bow again, to keep as much weight off her foot as possible, it still didn't feel entirely right. Just behind the palisade, behind the line of bodies, the mayor of the village paced up and down. Sten and Alistair were standing alert at either end of the wooden barrier, and Kai wondered why they weren't tired. She herself was exhausted. Though fighting was nothing new to her, fighting for an entire night against an enemy that never tired or slowed had slowly worn down her energy reserves. Now, it was all she could do to keep her eyes open.

"You haven't been a Grey Warden long, have you?" Leliana asked. She kept her voice quiet, as if afraid to be heard... by the undead or by the defenders, Kai did not know.

"Only a few days. Does it show?"

"Not so much, though it is obvious that you are uncomfortable around humans."

"Really? I thought I was doing well. I have not had to kill anybody yet."

"Is that... a joke ?" the young woman asked sceptically.

"Of course. I am a Grey Warden now. I cannot just go around slaying shemlens. Not without a very good reason, anyway. I am sure that questions would be raised."

"Maybe you should not mention killing humans so much. It might make your task much easier."

"But if I am forced to kill them, they could say that I never warned them."

"Well, they _could_... but they'd be dead. They probably won't say much of anything after that. Why do you talk so casually about inflicting harm on humans? Do your people speak this way with each other?"

"No, of course not. I have no need to threaten or warn another Dalish that their behaviour is inappropriate or a potential risk to their continued wellbeing."

"So why do you feel that humans need to be threatened?"

"If you approach a dog and it growls at you, raising its hackles and baring its teeth, would you continue walking towards it, would you reach out your hand to stroke it?"

"No, of course not. That is a dog's way of warning you to stop."

"There is your answer."

"But we are not dogs, neither your people nor mine. Surely we don't need to resort to posturing and threatening?"

Kai merely looked at the woman. Clearly she was quite mad. Leliana saw through a bard's eyes; she was an idealist and a romanticist. Obviously, the thought of the Dalish, living wild and free, master to none, had caught her imagination, but she knew nothing of the price of living such a life. She knew nothing of the hardships, of the endurance required, of the hostility many of her people encountered from shems when they stayed in one place for too long.

"Well, I've bandaged your ankle... hopefully it will provide a little more support," said Leliana.

"Thank you."

"Do you think we'll be seeing any more fighting tonight?"

"No. Dawn approaches."

"How can you tell?"

"The air smells different, just before the sunrise. Fresher, as if bringing a new wind for the new day."

"If it blows away the stench of these corpses it will be more than welcome," said Morrigan, looking down her nose at the dead bodies.

"I wonder who they were," Leliana mused. "Did they come from the castle? Were they the staff there? Or have they come from elsewhere and been drawn to the castle by some malevolent force?"

At that moment the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon and the sky began to lighten from black to dark blue. But there were no birds to sing out, to greet the dawn with their chorus, no crickets to chirp in the morning light. It was as if the town itself was as dead as the corpses that littered the ground.

"Can you do nothing to heal the injured?" Kai asked Morrigan. Almost everybody who had taken part in the defence of the town had received an injury; her own twisted ankle was one of the least serious of the lot.

"I could offer potions, but I don't have nearly enough to go around."

"The Keepers of our clans are good healers."

"I am not a healer of your clan. Doubtless my mother intended to teach me her healing magic at some point, but as you know, more important business has cropped up."

"Grey Wardens!"

Kai turned her head and saw Bann Teagan leave the Chantry with the senior priestess behind him. His sword, belted at his hip, was the only weapon in the town square without blood on it.

"Is something wrong, Bann Teagan?" she asked.

"No. Thanks to you, nothing is wrong. You've saved Redcliffe and its people."

"Not all were saved." She gestured at the dead townsmen.

"Had you not been here, we all would surely have perished. But I can see that you have better things to be doing that listening to me waffle on about how grateful we all are. Come. We have survived. Let me help you into the Chantry... a cup of warm tea awaits you."

o - o - o - o - o

Ferelden was too cold. How could people live like this, day after day? And not only was it cold, it also smelled of wet dog. The scent permeated the air, assaulting the olfactory senses of anybody not born to this rugged land. In some ways, Denerim was better than the rest of Ferelden; it was warmer, because there were more houses and more people, and therefore more fires and more warmth. But it also smelt worse than the rest of Ferelden. It smelt of too many people living too close together. It smelt of foul drains and stale food and rat piss.

"Hey, you!" called a guard, his face angry as he lowered his pike. "You should be in the Alienage, with the rest of your kind."

"You are mistaken, my good man," said Zevran, suppressing a sigh. This was the third time today he had been stopped by guards who clearly had nothing better to do with their time than harass down-trodden elves. You'd think with all this talk of Blights and dead kings and warring Bannorns, the guards wouldn't have this much free time on their hands.

"I'm not your good man, and I sincerely doubt that I'm mistaken."

"Then perhaps this might change your mind," he said, reaching into his inside pocket. The guard watched him cautiously, as if expecting him to brandish a weapon. Instead, he took out a piece of vellum, handing it over when prompted. "If you need help with some of the polysyllabic words I will be happy to assist," he offered when the guard frowned at the words.

"Shut it, you. I can read," the man glared. "Ahem. 'I... hereby... grant the bearer of this miss... missive... the right of passing...'"

"Passage," Zevran corrected.

"'The right of passage through Denerim. I order you... do not im... impede... his movements. Signed... Howe, Arl of Highever and Denerim'. Well now, this is a pretty little letter, isn't it? And how do I know it's not a fake."

"I'm on my way to the Palace to meet Arl Howe right now. Why don't you accompany me, and then you can ask him yourself?"

"Uh... I can't. I uh... I have to guard this gate," said the man nervously.

"Yes, the Maker forbid that the downtrodden, unarmed, starved elves suddenly try to beat their way through the gate with their bare fists," he said wryly. The guard narrowed his eyes.

"That sounded like _sympathizing_."

"I can assure you, it was not. I was merely pointing out the reality of the situation."

"Hmph. Well, get on with you, before I change your mind and decide to throw you in there for being too damned cheeky."

Zevran gave the man a bow, then continued on his way. He passed market stalls, wells, dogs, children, guards, houses... blah blah blah. It was pretty much the same, wherever you went. You had the well-to-do sitting high on their thrones, and everybody else running around trying to become the very people they hated. Why was nobody ever happy with their lot in life? Why were farmers never happy to be farmers? Why were merchants never content with making a modest living? Why were Grey Wardens dabbling in politics?

Arl Howe had already apprised him of the two he was to... 'handle'. One, the least of his concern, was a Dalish elf; a young woman possessed of grace and skill, but apparently overwhelmed with the demands heaped on her by the Grey Wardens. The other was a man who both Howe and Teyrn Loghain feared; a man who had gotten it into his head that he was the bastard son of the late King Meric. Quite obviously delusional, Howe had informed him, and quite obviously a threat to Teyrn Loghain... and to Queen Anora, of course. The Queen had simply been an afterthought on the Arl's behalf.

Zevran did not care for politics. He didn't care for Kings, Queens, Teyrns or Blights. All he cared about was getting this job done then he could return to Antiva. Antiva, with its warm clime, its fine wines and its eager and willing whores. Ah, how he missed Antiva.

Eventually he ended up at the Royal Palace - if you could even give this monstrosity of grey stone and harsh marble that title - and was met by Arl Howe and no less than five of his personal guards. Zevran almost smiled. Obviously Howe had heard of the Crows' reputation. No doubt he didn't want to take any chances, just in case somebody had offered him more money to betray his 'benefactor'.

"You're early," said Howe, affecting an unimpressed tone of voice.

"If you prefer, I could leave and come back in ten minutes. I'm sure there is much you could do in that time. A comely young wench, for example."

"I _thought_ the Crows were professionals. That they possessed... _decorum_."

"Not all of us," Zevran smiled.

"Well, not that you're here I suppose we should get this over with. As I told you before, let me do all the talking, don't say a word, and you'll be walking out of this meeting a rich man, with the good will of the future King of Ferelden on your side."

Zevran merely smiled again. Howe seemed to think that because he was a hired killer, he was a simpleton. In Antiva, Howe would have been robbed and killed within five minutes of entering the city. The little man thought that he was a dab hand at politics, but these Fereldens were mere children compared to Antivans, and even Orlesians.

He was led by How through the Palace, and the guards were dismissed outside a large, ornate door. Howe knocked and then entered, and Zevran followed him inside. At the far end of the room, looking out of the window that granted a view of the city, stood a man. A tall, dark-haired man who held a wine goblet in one hand. Though the man was armoured, his sword was lying at its ease on a table. Clearly this man felt comfortable being unarmed in the Palace. Well, they _were_ like children...

"My Lord, I come with news," said Arl Howe, bowing. The man, Loghain, did not even turn around. "Lothering has fallen, my Lord. It has been over-run by Darkspawn. Many people escaped, but the commander of the templars, along with many of his soldiers, was killed in the attack. And... there is more."

"More?" said the man, his voice weary.

"The two Grey Wardens we enquired about... they were seen leaving Lothering a day or two before the attack. Were they were heading I do not know, but the longer they remain alive, the bigger the problem they will become." Loghain was silent, and Zevran wondered if he had truly heard Howe's words. Regardless, the Arl ploughed on. "I have arranged for... assistance." Then, Howe gestured for him to step forward.

"The Antivan Crows send their regard," he said, giving a small bow to the man's back. It never hurt to bow before royalty. Or those who thought they were.

"Assassins?" said Loghain, disgust in his voice.

"They are the best, and we will need the best to deal with the threat that these Grey Wardens pose," said Howe.

"Fine. Just get it done," said Loghain. Arl Howe bowed, and ushered Zevran from the room. Outside, his guards took up their alert poses.

"I will have the money sent to your organisation immediately," said Howe. "And I look forward to hearing of your success."

With a grin, Zevran bowed. He wouldn't see any of the money from this mission now, of course. But when he returned home, he would have many evenings of freedom and pleasure to look forward to.


End file.
